


Fuck You, Oregon

by Saori



Series: Diamond Creek, Oregon [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Canonical Character Death, Enemies to Lovers, Established Chris Argent/Peter Hale, First Kiss, M/M, Minor Violence, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Small Towns, Stiles Stilinski Gets Bitten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24079840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saori/pseuds/Saori
Summary: After being bitten by Deucalion, Allison’s death, and everything that’s happened in between, Stiles moves away from Beacon Hills. He’s struggling to figure out what he became after the bite until a phone call reveals he didn’t manage to escape the supernatural as he hoped he would. Chris Argent and Peter Hale aren’t exactly the support system he expected to have, but he reluctantly accepts their help and gets more than he bargained for.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Chris Argent/Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Diamond Creek, Oregon [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801036
Comments: 32
Kudos: 467





	Fuck You, Oregon

**Author's Note:**

> It does not require reading the prequel, [Fear No Monsters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24890248).
> 
> *chanting* Lumberjack!Peter! Lumberjack!Peter! Lumberjack!Peter!
> 
> Alright, so, here’s the thing: Don’t expect some plot-heavy, rock-your-world shit. It’s not gonna happen. I’ve never written Stetopher before, and I’ve never written a poly relationship before. So, this is more me experimenting with the dynamics, writing Chris for the first time and figuring out his characterization (I might’ve overdone it a little), and obsessing over lumberjack!Peter than anything else.
> 
> Sorry?
> 
> Anyways.
> 
> Thanks to Ry and Al for kicking my ass when I needed ass-kicking and the numerous pick-me-ups, not even mentioning their tolerance for my whining, right up till posting and probably after.
> 
> Huge thanks to [Erevan](https://erevan7.tumblr.com/) for the beta!
> 
> Enjoy!

If Beacon Hills was a sleepy little town, Diamond Creek was in a coma. At least, that had been Stiles’ first impression of the small town in the middle of the woods in Oregon. It had a main street – the only road leading up to the town – and two side streets. If you drove through it, the town seemed much smaller than with it only occupying one side of the main road.

About halfway through town was the only grocery store that shared a lot with the only gas station as well as the mechanic, right next to the only side street turning off the main road. On that street, further up after a hardware store was a diner slash bar, the only one in Diamond Creek.

Stiles moved to the second side street, one that ran parallel with the main road. Since Diamond Creek had under two thousand souls and housed only as many as lived there, it was a wonder there was an apartment building at all. Admittedly, it looked more like a modified B&B or inn. It was made out of dark wood, had a ground floor with a spacious communal space and garages. The apartments, four in total, were on the second floor, designed comfortably but not practically.

Stiles found it after pitching the idea of moving away to his dad. He expected him to be mad, disappointed, but after everything that had happened, Noah only regarded him with a searching look and told him to pick a place. Stiles didn’t want to move far, just a drive away. He just needed to get out of Beacon Hills and Noah seemed to be aware of that.

For a few weeks prior they were exchanging e-mails with small town names they wanted the other to look at. Noah did most of the dismissing, looked up the crime rates or just disliked the location. Stiles mainly ruled places out based on distance and size. He wanted something exciting, but at the same time, he couldn’t bear to think about so many people around himself.

And that’s not even mentioning his imminent destiny.

After Allison’s death Scott became distant. Chris moved away, nobody knew where and Derek and Cora left without a word. Nobody saw Peter since he helped them with the Nogitsune. The pack was falling apart and Stiles would’ve loved to pick up the pieces but he felt like he had done enough of that and that his presence wasn’t welcome either.

Because he was a killer and possibly some kind of murderous creature.

Before Allison, before the Nogitsune, Stiles was bitten by Deucalion. The fucker attacked Derek and Stiles was in the way, as always, but this time he got caught in the crossfire. He didn’t feel different the next day. Or the day after that. He almost welcomed the Nogitsune possession, because he thought that might’ve been the reason the bite didn’t take or, for an insane second it crossed his mind that he became the Nogitsune like Jackson became the Kanima.

But then the Nogitsune left and Stiles still wasn’t a werewolf. When they asked Deaton about it, he told them the bite should’ve taken and he didn’t know why Stiles was still the same. He wasn’t a Kanima. He wasn’t the Nogitsune. He wasn’t a Banshee either.

Nobody knew what Stiles was. Which was just as well. Scott was too busy mentoring Liam and the others were busy with their own lives. When Stiles asked Scott why he wasn’t more worried about Stiles, Scott shrugged and said: “You taught me how to be a werewolf, remember? Whatever you are, I’m sure you’re going to be fine.” And that was that.

Stiles was man enough to admit that even though Scott didn’t hate him, he hated Scott a little. Because he forgave Stiles. Just like that. He was all sad little smiles and quiet reassurance. He was shoulder claps and knowing glances. Stiles just couldn’t deal with that. Not when he killed Allison and not when they didn’t even know if Stiles was safe to be around.

Scott asked him to stay. Once. He didn’t beg and didn’t insist or push. He just said: “Please, Stiles, stay.” But Stiles couldn’t. And Scott said: “Alright. Whatever you need.” And Stiles hated him all the more for it. The guilt eating away at him and Scott’s forgiveness and Liam’s naivety was too much.

Stiles didn’t remember if he and his dad had ever been on a road trip prior to this one. He forgot the ones from his childhood and since then too much had happened and there wasn’t time. So, when his dad took a day or two off so they could check out a handful of little towns they both liked enough to see, Stiles was prepared.

He insisted on doing the whole nine yards, brought a bunch of snacks and even made a road trip playlist. Noah just shook his head and rolled his eyes at him, but Stiles couldn’t care less. For the first time in a long time he was having fun and he looked forward to it. Come on, it was a road trip! He caught the smile tugging on the corner of the sheriff’s mouth anyway, and he felt proud of both of them, how far they’ve come.

They checked out all the small towns, but one left an impression Stiles couldn’t shake. It was in the middle of the woods and was he not looking for it, he would’ve never found it. They drove in, had early dinner in the diner, and checked out the apartment. Stiles looked one up in every town.

Noah wasn’t sure about it. He didn’t like how out of the way it was, or the fact that the whole town was rebuilt around a decade ago because of a forest fire. He didn’t like that Stiles lost service more than he had it. He also disliked that he could count on one hand how many jobs you could have there.

You were either a lumberjack or, as the landlord to the place, Devon “call me Dev, everyone does” a waiter at the bar slash diner because Sophie, who served them earlier was the only daytime waiter. The nighttime waiters were two high-schoolers who drove two hours every day to go to school and home. At Noah’s look he just laughed and said the boys are only working a few hours before Rudd, the chef took over. They were there as a favor by Rudd, because the boys were saving up for a trip after graduation.

Every other position was taken up in the local establishments and according to Devon they’d sooner die than leave their jobs. That, again, alarmed Noah, but Dev laughed and told them most people who worked there had families and there weren’t a lot of career choices in the area. Once you had a job in town, you stayed there until you either moved away or died.

Stiles loved the mystery surrounding the small town. They had almost zero online presence and Sophie and Devon both said: “Nobody comes to Diamond Creek who doesn’t look for it.” Sophie also let it slip she finished high school top of her class, and when Noah asked why she decided to move to Diamond Creek she told them: “It’s a safe haven for people with a past they want to forget.”

It didn’t reassure the sheriff but Stiles was ecstatic. He loved a mystery and he wanted to live a quiet life – this seemed to be the perfect place for it. And he reassured his father it wasn’t permanent. He just wanted to get away for a while and he had every intention to go to university and live a normal life. He just had to get out of Beacon Hills to leave his past where it belonged: in the past.

\--

In the end, Stiles called Dev and told him he’ll take the offer. He moved on a Saturday. It wasn’t the grand parting he expected. His father drove out with him, claiming it was easier to pile everything in the cruiser than making several trips with the Jeep. Scott was sad, but it wasn’t as teary of a goodbye as Stiles hoped. They just hugged tightly for several minutes, then with backslaps from both sides, they parted. Stiles didn’t have many friends, and Derek and Cora moved earlier in the year, even though they never bothered to inform him, so only Isaac, Kira and Liam were there besides Scott and his mom.

Stiles couldn’t help but be relieved when the sign informed him that he was leaving Beacon Hills. He teared up and just the thought of not seeing his father for a while made his heart ache, but he cried in joy as well. Beacon Hills was full of memories. Yes, good ones too, but the bad seemed to always overwhelm them.

Arriving at Diamond Creek was already like coming home. Oh, what would Stiles give to erase all bad memories and responsibilities and have his father and the McCalls move there too, so they could be a proper small-town family… But that was impossible. Scott had Liam to worry about and Stiles had his own issues. He couldn’t ask Scott to forgive him, drop everything and move on with him. That was selfish.

So, he greeted Dev like they’ve known each other forever and took his boxes into his brand-new apartment. His dad just finished his business in the bathroom, after they’d got all of Stiles’ things up there, and came out, drying his hand in a towel Stiles didn’t remember packing but knew it was theirs.

“It’s so strange.” Stiles admitted, running his hand over the smooth surface of the kitchen counter. It was some kind of stone but he couldn’t tell what, exactly. “This is mine, dad.”

“Well, you’re renting it.” Noah tilted his head this way and that. Stiles rolled his eyes. “It’s always good to remember that. But yes. You’re on your own now, kid. God, I didn’t think this day would ever come.” His dad was looking at the sparse furniture as he talked, but Stiles heard the emotion anyways. He shook his head, rushing to hug his dad, which was returned tightly.

“I’m sorry I’m leaving.” He murmured into his jacket. The sheriff’s shoulders shook as he laughed soundlessly.

“You grew up. The way things were a few years back, I wasn’t sure you would even get to this point.”

“Hey! I’m having a moment!”

“Oh, come on, you’re going to see your old man all the time. Who knows, maybe if I retire, I’ll move next door.”

“ _If_ you retire?” Stiles frowned, pulling away. Noah shrugged.

“I’m a cop, kid. You know the dangers. Why do you always concentrate on the negative, huh?” His eyes narrowed. “You just moved away from your father. You know what that means?”

“You get to eat steak?”

\--

Stiles quickly got used to living alone. He didn’t want to think about why, but he got everything straightened out soon after he moved – he had Wi-Fi and a job at the diner in a week, his fridge was filled by the next day and he talked to his dad every other day. Scott only called twice in the week and a half that went by, but that was alright. He was busy.

He met his neighbors as well. His immediate neighbor, Vince, was a quiet guy, with two Labradors, the black Marco and the white Polo. Stiles found it hilarious. The family living across him was Clara and her two sons – and their father, though Stiles started to think he was a ghost because he never saw the man. Clara said he worked at the nearby lumber company, like ninety percent of the town.

Stiles quickly learned Diamond Creek wasn’t nearly as empty as he suspected. Everyone just got up at four AM and didn’t return until at least eight or nine, and then they filed into the bar to have a few drinks before going home to sleep.

It was almost too good to be true.

Stiles hated to wait for the other shoe to drop, but he had to admit, it was a habit he couldn’t shake. So, he went on with his days and learned to wait tables under Sophie’s wings. He got used to rolling over and covering his ears on weekends when the two kids got out to play in the garden at seven in the morning. But he always expected a monster to jump out of the closet.

And he feared the monster was him. He was still just fine at the next full moon. There were no murders in town. One of the high-schoolers, who worked at the bar, Adam’s grandmother died and Stiles didn’t scream.

Maybe Deucalion didn’t bite him as deeply as it seemed. The bite healed quick enough. Maybe it was the Nogitsune. Deaton said the possession shouldn’t have made him immune to the bite, more so, he should’ve been more receptive. But the weeks and months went by and Stiles was still as human as ever.

Then he got a call. From Derek Hale, of all people.

“Big guy!” Stiles answered cheerfully, waving away Sophie’s questioning glance. They were in the staff room, getting changed – not that putting on different shoes and tying an apron was much of a change. “And here I thought you’ve forgotten all about ol’ little me.”

“I hear you’ve moved to Oregon.” The man didn’t even say hello. Stiles was used to it though, so he went with it.

“And who would’ve told you that?” Not that Derek didn’t talk to anyone else in the pack, but… he didn’t really talk to anyone else in the pack. He didn’t even talk to Stiles.

“Isaac.” The offered answer was unexpected but not unwelcome. Not because Stiles was surprised Isaac would tell Derek, but that Derek would tell Stiles. Also, that Isaac would tell Derek. Did the big guy ask after him or did Isaac bring it up?

“Oh? You chat now, do you? Why is me moving away from the hellhole so important anyways?” He didn’t mean to be rude, but Sophie was done changing and she tapped her watch as she left the room.

“I know about Deucalion’s bite. I know it didn’t affect you. That you don’t think you’re a Banshee or a Kanima. I just wanted to tell you there might be someone who could help you figure it out.”

“Why? I mean, don’t get me wrong, that would be awesome, but how come you suddenly care?” Stiles frowned as he looked at his own watch. It was getting late; their shift would start in ten and he should help Sophie set up the tables.

“Do you want their info or not?” Derek sounded impatient now, too, which wasn’t Stiles’ intention. He sighed.

“Yes, thank you, Derek.”

“They live in a small town, it’s called Diamond Creek. You probably need a paper map to locate it…”

“Don’t you fucking tell me there are werewolves in this fucking town.” He leaned forward and pinched the bridge of his nose. Derek didn’t say anything. “Alright. How do I find this person? I’m already in Diamond Creek.”

“Right.” He sounded strange, like he knew something Stiles didn’t, but he couldn’t be bothered to ask what. It was probably better if he didn’t know anyways. He kept hoping it’s not Sophie or Dev or Vince. “They live right outside of the town. They own a small business as far as I know. They moved there not long ago. I’m sure you can figure it out based on that, I don’t know much more.”

“Yeah, alright, thanks, Derek.” Before he could ask what this good Samaritan’s name was or how he and Cora were doing, he was greeted by the dial tone. He pulled the phone away from his ear, frowning down at it, muttering: “Rude.”

Stiles almost forgot about the call as he followed Sophie’s instructions. They had a lull after the morning rush, so Stiles had time to quiz her a bit. He started with asking about her: “How long have you been here? Oh, and your parents are alright with you living so far from Virginia? You can crochet, what?!” Then he asked her about Derek’s mysterious friend.

“Hey, does anyone live nearby? When we rolled in town with dad, it was just the woods for miles.”

“I think.” Sophie nodded thoughtfully. “Well, it’s all woods towards California for sure. Towards Portland there’s the lumberyard, some smaller businesses…”

“Like lumbering businesses?” Stiles narrowed his eyes. Sophie didn’t seem to think much of it, just shrugged.

“That too. I think there’s also an arms dealer out there.” To that, Stiles’ eyebrows rose. “We get a lot of wildlife around here.”

“Ah.” Stiles shrugged. They chatted about local businesses a bit more, Sophie explaining that most of the businesses around here were owned by the same person, and about how kids go to surrounding small towns to go to school.

\--

He drove out towards Portland one afternoon. He didn’t have anything better to do and he should check out the area anyways. The possibility of finding Derek’s friend was a bonus, but really, he just wanted to explore his new home.

There were several dirt roads forking off the highway, disappearing into dense forest. Some, Stiles suspected were service roads and hiking trails, but he didn’t turn into any of them. He kept driving ahead, glancing at the forest for clues about the local lumberyard – it seemed to be the biggest attraction and business around town, so he wanted to see for himself.

The lumberyard was very visible from the road. There was a big chunk of the gorgeous forest missing and a metal cabin with the local company’s logo on it. When Stiles pulled over in hopes to check out the lumberyard, a security guard appeared, blocking his path. When he stepped up to Stiles to ask what business he had here, Stiles couldn’t conjure up a better lie, so he just said he was interested in opening a business here and was wondering if there were any others around.

“You mean Silver?” The security guard frowned. “Like, two miles out of town.”

“Oh? Which way? I haven’t seen a house in miles.”

“A dirt road leads up to their cabin, but I wouldn’t go there if I were you. Silver does his business in the city. This ain’t his shop up there, but their house. Now get outta here before you get in trouble.” Stiles did.

He tried a couple of roads, but all of them ended with a barrier and signs that indicated they were most likely hiking and service trails. He lucked out on one of the last ones, around two miles out of town. There wasn’t a barrier, the dirt road leading straight into the forest. About a mile in was a sign saying he entered private property, he ignored it.

After several turns a clearing of sorts came into view. It was beautiful.

The wooden cabin in the middle seemed recently built as well as the rest of the town. The garage door to the left of the front door was open, revealing two Land Rovers, an 4x4 and a cross-country. Both were clean and shiny, like they were new. The garage was half built into the basement level. The height of the cabin suggested a second floor but there were no windows on this wall at all. There was dense forest on both sides, so one couldn’t see past the house.

Stiles parked to the side, not wanting to cut off the cars in the garage and got out, looking around as he shut the Jeep’s door. He wondered who was fortunate enough to afford living in complete isolation in the middle of the woods. Diamond Creek was remote but this cabin was at least four miles drive away from everything.

Before he could wander up to the front door, there was a shout from the side of the house.

“Whoever you are, you’re on private property! I’ve got a gun and I’m coming out, so hands in the air!” The voice was vaguely familiar but Stiles was too frightened to analyze it as he immediately raised his arms, stepping closer to the Jeep. From behind the corner of the house a man came out, holding a shotgun.

Chris Argent all but vanished after Allison’s death. He informed four people in total he was leaving, but then he went off the radar and never returned. Stiles expected him to have moved to the other side of the world. If his dad would’ve died, he wouldn’t have only made his killer pay, he would’ve left the country like his ass was on fire.

“Mr. Argent?” Stiles squeaked as the man stepped closer, the gun still aimed at him, but getting lowered with each step he took.

“Stiles?” He frowned, looking around cautiously. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Stiles said, lowering his arms. Chris finally let the bad end of the gun aim at the ground by his feet. “Derek called me, told me there might be someone around here who could help me with Deucalion’s bite or whatever. I didn’t realize it was you.” Stiles trailed off, unsure how to continue. Sorry I killed your only daughter? “I—I should go.” He gestured behind himself at his car, but Chris didn’t indicate he was dismissed and with the gun in the man’s hand Stiles wasn’t taking chances.

“Are you alone?” His face was unreadable.

“Yes?” It came out as a question and Stiles looked over his shoulder where Chris tried to look into the car even though he knew there wasn’t anything interesting there. “I am.” He turned back to the man.

“Did anyone follow you?”

“I don’t think so?” Stiles looked towards the dirt road. “I didn’t think to check.”

“Alright.” Chris paused, looking Stiles up and down. After a moment of consideration, he said: “Come with me and explain about this bite.” With that, he turned and headed back where he came from. Stiles followed, utterly confused.

“You didn’t know about the bite?” He asked as Chris reached the corner of the house. The man shook his head but didn’t turn. As Stiles rounded the corner, he stopped short when he saw the yard.

Tall pines were framing the clearing. There was freshly overturned dirt where the trees were missing, and wood chippings around a wide log, not far from the house. A figure stood at the log, axe in hand as he put a smaller one on top and struck, the thick wood breaking in half from only one swing.

Stiles stood there in shock, taking in the two men, both he never suspected to see anymore. Let alone together. Chris aged a lot, he grew a full beard, which suited him nicely, he noted. He also had more lines on his face than Stiles remembered and more muscles too – he’d been lean and strong before, now he had the muscle mass to show for it, too.

The other man, he changed a lot as well. He seemed softer, or at least less threatening than before. He grew a beard too, though his was shorter than Chris’s and not quite as salt and pepper, or as well-kept. He wore a V-neck, which wasn’t unusual, but the axe in his hand was.

“What, you need accessories now to break something, Peter?” It slipped out before Stiles could stop the words. It didn’t have the effect he thought it would. Instead of looking him up and down like he was waste on the bottom of his shoe, Peter Hale didn’t even turn to look at him, but smiled down at the next log he placed on top of the wider one.

“I get splinters under my claws. Nobody likes that.” He answered, sounding amused as he struck down on the poor log, which broke in half. “What can we do for you, Stiles?” Peter left the axe in the bottom log as it was, embedded up a quarter of the way up the blade as he turned to Stiles.

“I don’t think I want anything from you.” Stiles frowned and again, Peter didn’t react as he expected, rolling his eyes and being sarcastic. He threw his head back and laughed. Stiles watched on with wide eyes as the former psycho killer laughed at Stiles’ words like they were a punchline in a good joke.

“After all that’s happened, I’m still the monster under your bed, Stiles? I’m flattered, really.” He shook his head, amused. Stiles glared and Chris threw a look over his shoulder at the other man, clearly a warning that Peter ignored.

“Explain to us about this bite, Stiles.” Chris said, his usual calm and collected temper making Stiles relax a bit. But Peter was still standing over his shoulder, looking at Stiles with raised eyebrows and a smug expression. Stiles hesitated. Chris must’ve guessed what made him uncomfortable, because then he held his gun out behind himself and said: “Would you put that back where it belongs?”

To Stiles’ biggest surprise, Peter actually did. He rolled his eyes but he stepped forward, taking a hold of the gun then he turned and strode towards the back of the house with all the confidence in the world. Stiles couldn’t help but gaze at his retreating back, and as he caught Chris’s eyes, he cleared his throat.

“Right. So, you remember Deucalion, right? Evil alpha and all that?” He waved a hand when Chris cocked an impatient eyebrow. “So,” Stiles drawled, grimacing and rubbing his neck, “he might’ve bitten me.”

“You aren’t a ‘wolf.” Chris stated like he was one and could tell for sure. Stiles’ eyebrows raised.

“And you know that, how?”

“I hunt werewolves for a living, Stiles, I recognize a newly turned one when I see it.” ‘It’, not ‘him’ or ‘her’ or ‘them’ or even ‘one’. For some reason that made Stiles’ palms itchy.

“Right.” He glared, then shook his head. This wasn’t the time for a fight about linguistics. “Okay, so, uh, here’s the thing.” Stiles started, not being able to stand in one place, he started pacing. “I’m not a ‘wolf and I’m not a Kanima and I’m not a Banshee either. Truth is, I have no idea what I am and it’s freaking me out. I mean, I was possessed at the time, so we don’t know how that would’ve affected the bite, but Deaton says it should’ve made me more receptive to it, not immune. Which is crazy, because I was already something, so I couldn’t have been turned into something else, right?”

“Where did he bite you?” Peter asked as he returned from wherever he went, interrupting Stiles’ thinking out loud. He stopped short at the question.

“On my leg. Does that matter?” He screwed up his face in confusion.

“Not really, just curiosity.” Peter shrugged. Stiles blinked at him, surprised. He awaited more questions, but none came. Both men were looking at him expectantly. He didn’t know what to say, so he just asked:

“So, can you help me figure out what I am?”

“Do you have any symptoms? Strange things happening to you or around you?”

“People dying?” Peter added to Chris’ questions. Stiles frowned at him.

“Nothing. It’s like I’m me again.” He shrugged half-heartedly.

“And Deaton is sure the possession shouldn’t have made you immune?” Chris asked and Stiles nodded.

“Yeah, he sounded pretty sure. For once he wasn’t a cryptic bastard and told me straight.” He rolled his eyes as he said it.

“We’ll have to look into it.” Chris looked over his shoulder at Peter, who shrugged.

“We could do a couple tests. See if nothing’s really changed.”

“Like, blood tests?” Stiles perked up at the possibility lycanthropy could be tested like that, but to his disappointment, Peter snorted.

“More like what you did with Scott and lacrosse. Test your senses and strength.”

“But I told you. I didn’t experience any of that.” Stiles frowned, crossing his arms across his chest. At Peter’s deadpan look, he uncrossed them and put his hands in his pockets. Peter then turned to Chris, who, as if sensing the gaze, turned to look back at him. There was a pause.

“Are you free this weekend?” Peter asked at last.

“Uh, I guess so?” Stiles frowned. “Why?”

“Come back on Saturday. Around seven sounds fine?” The question was addressed to Chris, who nodded after brief consideration.

“Why can’t we do it now?” He gestured around the yard.

“Because you arrived just as Christopher was supposed to leave and I have work.” Peter rolled his eyes as if Stiles was supposed to know that. “Of course, if you’re okay with just me around…” Peter trailed off, gesturing vaguely behind himself. Stiles glared at him, pushing his tongue in his cheek.

“Yeah, I’ll pass.” He said flatly. “Seven, Saturday?”

“I should be back by then.” Chris nodded. Stiles thought for a moment, then nodded.

“Okay. I’ll be back.”

“Oh, this is going to be great.” Peter sounded sarcastic and amused. Stiles whole-heartedly agreed with the sentiment. Peter stepped forward, one hand coming up to touch Chris’s back. Stiles expected him to flinch away from the touch, but he just stiffened. “Christopher will accompany you back to the highway.” Chris nodded and it seemed like a dismissal, so Stiles turned and walked back towards his car, heart beating wildly in his chest.

He had no idea what these two were doing together. Peter seemed pretty much at home, so the house must’ve been his. But the security guard told him ‘Silver’ lived here. No actually… Stiles stopped just as he reached the corner of the house. He looked back, expecting Peter and Chris to have started talking as soon as he turned his back, but they were still looking at him, so he quickly rounded the corner. Peter’s hand had been still on Chris’ back.

The security guard said ‘their cabin’, ‘their house’. Was it possible Chris Argent lived with Peter Hale of all people? Why? Did Peter kidnap him or something? No, that was stupid. The man had a gun in his hand, and he was a hunter anyways. He could’ve left any time he wished. And he did, too, apparently.

Questions swirled around Stiles’ head as he neared his car. Then Chris showed up at the corner of the house, went through the open garage door and got into the 4X4. Stiles waited for him to back out, the garage door closing as he left the premises, then Chris drove past Stiles.

Chris stopped at the junction to the main road, his signal going to indicate he was turning towards Portland. He rolled down his window and leaned out, so Stiles parked next to him and leaned over the passenger seat to roll down his own window.

“You’re going the other way. Just follow the road until you come across the highway, from there, the signs will lead you back to Beacon Hills.” Stiles made a face and not only because of his discomfort at having half his ass out of his seat.

“I know where I’m going, thanks.” He didn’t tell Chris he lived in Diamond Creek because he wasn’t sure he wanted the two men, especially Peter to know how close he was.

“Good.” Chris nodded without any reaction to Stiles’ tone. “Don’t come here unless it’s absolutely necessary, and don’t mention it to your friends either. There’s a good reason we’re laying low.”

“And what, exactly that reason is?” Stiles couldn’t help but ask. To his surprise, Chris smirked at that, looking momentarily smug, but then the expression was gone.

“See you on Saturday, Stiles.” With that, he rolled his window up and drove away. Stiles grumbled, annoyed as he wrestled the window, then went home to marvel about what just happened.

\--

Saturday rolled around and Stiles forgot to set an alarm, so he was running late. He got weekends off because the high-schoolers covered their shifts during the day. He was still half asleep as he rolled up to the cabin, where everything seemed the same except the garage door was closed. He walked up to the front door, but before he could knock, Peter opened it.

He was in sweatpants, which clung to his muscular calves, loosened around his thighs and pulled tight at his groin. He only wore an open hoodie on top, gracing Stiles with his hairless, perfectly sculpted chest. He blinked, trying not to stare, but it was hard. Peter looked absolutely edible and Stiles had a hard time remembering he was a psycho werewolf.

“I thought you got cold feet.” Peter smirked smugly, knowing perfectly well how he looked. Stiles tore his gaze from his chest, rolling his eyes.

“Overslept. What are we doing today then?” He asked, annoyed. Icy blue eyes narrowed and the smirk never left Peter’s face as he gestured behind himself.

“Coffee first?”

“Seriously?” Stiles exhaled. Peter just kept smirking at him, one hand on the door, leaning against the doorway. “Can we just get on with it?”

Peter shrugged, stepping aside. Stiles didn’t move.

“Come in, Stiles, he won’t bite unless he wants to lose his teeth.” Came Chris’ voice from inside the house. As Stiles looked over Peter’s shoulder, he expected to see the man standing there, but he wasn’t in his line of sight.

He gave up and pushed past Peter, trying not to touch the man, but with how he dominated the doorway, it was almost impossible. The door closed behind him and he picked up his pace to stay as far from the ‘wolf as possible.

The inside of the cabin was absolutely gorgeous. It was all warm tones, mainly thanks to the wooden logs that made up the walls. It was an open plan, the living room to the right. There was a dark burgundy couch with throw pillows and colorful blankets and a dark wood coffee table in front of it, cluttered with papers and a laptop. A rustic dining table with four chairs was squeezed between the wall and the couch. There was a bookshelf that was part of a full-wall entertainment center, with a huge flat screen in the middle.

The kitchen was to the left, only a counter separating it from the living room slash dining room. Behind it stood Chris. It looked more modern than the living room, with light, beige countertops and a built-in fridge, electric stove and dishwasher.

There were glass doors on either side of the large room, the one opening from the living room leading to where they had a discussion a few days ago. The other one, the one that opened from the kitchen, right before the hallway that led deeper into the house, opened to what looked like a sunroom.

Chris was sipping coffee behind the counter, turned towards the living room. He was shirtless, too. Stiles almost groaned out loud at the unfairness of it. He was a bit more defined than Peter, but it might’ve been because of the light dusting of chest hair highlighting pecs and abs. Stiles wanted to follow his treasure trail, but it disappeared behind the counter. There were bar stools outside the island and when Chris invited Stiles to sit, he did.

“How do you take your coffee?” Chris asked as he turned to fidget with the futuristic looking espresso machine. He had baggy sweatpants on that clung only to his ass and ankles, held up by a string. Stiles looked away.

“I don’t want any, thanks.” Chris didn’t comment on his choice, just kept rummaging around the kitchen. Stiles turned to look at Peter, found him on the couch, typing something on the laptop. “When do we start this thing?” Stiles asked impatiently. Peter’s head twitched but it wasn’t him who answered.

“He’ll just write that e-mail, since you were late, we started on some things. It won’t take long.” With that, he placed a steaming cup in front of Stiles, who raised his eyebrows at it. Chris nodded at him encouragingly. It turned out to be some kind of tea, and while Stiles wasn’t generally a fan, he had to admit it was delicious.

“Thanks.” Chris just nodded, leaning his hips to the counter and kept sipping his own coffee. He looked so at home, it seemed surreal. Stiles tried to imagine him and Peter living together and it was impossible. They had so much bad blood between them… And why were they living together anyways?

“It used to be a real wooden cabin, but it was a fire hazard.” Chris said as he must’ve noticed Stiles looking at the walls with narrowed eyes. “Our contractor offered us a substitute that would look like real wood. In fact,” he knocked his knuckles on the wall by the coffee machine as he waited for it to brew, “it’s sculpted.”

“It’s, uh.” Stiles didn’t know if he should compliment Peter Hale’s home, but in the end, he said: “It’s beautiful. Like, out of a Lowe’s catalogue, but very nice. Homey.”

“Yeah.” Was all Chris said, then there was a snap as Peter closed the laptop.

“Alright.” He stood, stretching. “Come on. The sooner we do this, the sooner I get my weekend back.” Stiles looked over his shoulder, watching as Peter left through the living room door. He quickly thanked Chris for the tea, leaving the half-finished cup on the counter, then rushed to follow Peter.

By the time he arrived at the yard, Peter already had his axe in his hand and a log on the base. As he heard Stiles stumble outside, he turned, offering the handle of the axe towards Stiles who took it, confused.

“Chop.” Was all Peter said, crossing his arms over his chest and stepping back. Stiles looked at him with wide eyes and open mouth, then at the log, then the axe, Peter again, then the axe. “Today, if it pleases you.” Peter rolled his eyes and his wrist in an impatient gesture.

“Careful, dude, I have the axe now.” Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. Peter snorted. Stiles stepped up to the log, and as he had seen on TV, raised the axe above his head. Before he could strike, Peter clicked his tongue, annoyed.

“Not like that.” Stiles let the axe down and looked over expectantly. Peter didn’t say more, just raised his eyebrows. Stiles huffed, turning back and trying again, this time in front of his face. “Have you never seen anyone use an axe before?”

“No, because I live on planet _Not Everyone Chops Wood for Fun_.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Your highness could show me, perhaps?” He tilted his head to the side. The corners of Peter’s mouth turned up in a smirk, then after a moment he stepped forward.

Stiles held out the axe, and Peter took it, swinging almost right away. Stiles noted his movements as Peter struck twice, not from the top straight down but from the side with more momentum. When he finished, he looked over at Stiles with raised eyebrows, tossing aside the log that was now split into four, replacing it with a whole one.

The set up was the same and once again, Peter offered the axe to Stiles who took it. He struck, but the only thing he achieved was that the head got stuck. He tried to dislodge it but Peter stopped him.

“Leave it. Raise the log with the axe and strike again.” Stiles did it. The axe went deeper but still didn’t cut it in half. He did it a couple more times, maybe a little too aggressively at the end, but he did it. The two halves fell to the side. “Put it with the others.” As he did that, Peter placed another log on the base. Stiles looked at him, annoyed.

“Didn’t this prove I don’t have super-strength?” He gestured at the half logs.

“We barely started.” Peter smirked. Stiles groaned and cut the next log. Then the next. Then the one after that. By the fifth he was exhausted and his arms hurt like crazy. He felt like the axe weighed at least ten pounds and the meaty lower part of his thumbs cramped to the point he couldn’t move them. He didn’t even _know_ he had muscles there, or that they were used to chop wood.

“Another one.” Peter ordered, putting a new log on the base.

“ _No_.” Stiles wheezed. “I can’t. My hands hurt.”

“Another one, Stiles.” Peter pushed with a little annoyance in his tone. Stiles groaned dramatically.

“I can’t grip the handle. I’m gonna drop it on my foot.”

“Would you do it if I threatened you with bodily harm?” He asked almost nonchalantly. Stiles glared from where he was hunched over, massaging his cramping palm.

“Give it up, Peter. I don’t know what this is supposed to prove, but obviously, I don’t have it.”

“Another one, or I’ll slash your precious car.” He leveled Stiles with a gaze. Stiles glared back.

“This just makes me wanna brain you on your beloved axe.”

“It’s a good axe, but not beloved.” Peter smirked, picking up another log. He hooked his human fingernails in the top of it, then with a flash of supernaturally blue eyes and a manic grin, he just ripped it apart like it was cloth. Stiles’ mouth fell open. “See, metal is a bit trickier, but absolutely doable. What will it be?”

“I hate you.” Stiles spat, but he picked up the axe. His next try was even more pathetic than the first. He hunched over the log, his hands aflame with cramps he managed to massage bearable before. “I really, really can’t.” He grunted out through the pain.

There was a pause, then a hand settled on his naked nape and he flinched away, falling on the ground with the log. Peter rolled his eyes above him and crouched, taking hold of Stiles’ wrist. Stiles tried to fight him off, but after a moment he realized black lines ran up Peter’s hand. He stopped struggling.

Peter didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at him. His eyes were on the house. Stiles looked over and saw Chris standing there, finally in a shirt, with his arms crossed over his chest, quietly watching them. It started to feel awkward after a moment, but then Peter let go of him and stood.

“Your turn, Argent.” Peter held out his hand towards Stiles. He didn’t take it, standing on his own, dusting himself off.

“Come on.” Chris nodded his head towards the house, then turned and left. With a last glance at Peter, Stiles followed.

Stiles was subjected to several “tests” after that. Chris took him to the shed on the other side of the house, that was full of guns and all kinds of suspicious-looking jars and containers. He got way too familiar with some of its contents as Chris made him eat, inhale and rub on his skin powders and liquids and on one memorable occasion, some kind of frog.

After that, Chris just hummed, writing down whatever he concluded, not telling Stiles his findings. He sent him outside, where Peter waited for him and made him run through the woods around the house for almost twenty minutes. Then Peter led him to a clearing within the woods where Chris was waiting with guns and targets. After they concluded that yes, Stiles could indeed handle a gun since he was ten, and yes, his aim was awful, they returned to the house.

“Now what?” Stiles asked as he frowned at his spoiled clothing. If he knew he’d have such a physically active day, he’d have worn sweatpants and a sleepshirt, not jeans and a graphic tee with plaid on top.

“Now we need to compare our findings to what’s in our books.” Chris answered from Stiles’ right. Now that he wasn’t running through them, he had to note how gorgeous the woods were. Tall pine trees, almost no undergrowth. It felt like the trees were protecting them. “Unless you already know.” The note was aimed at Peter who was walking on Chris’ other side.

“I have a general idea where we should look.” Peter shrugged. “Not much more than when you first came to us though.”

“We should do a control next week.” Chris said. “Just to be sure of the results.”

“You want to put me through this,” Stiles gestured around them, at the woods, “again?”

“Yes. Be here next week, same time.” Chris nodded after a short pause. Stiles groaned and cursed any Gods he knew, but didn’t protest.

\--

Next week, at the same time. Stiles just got out of his car when something hit him in the shoulder. He flinched and instinctually crouched, his arms coming up to protect his head. When no more hits came, he slowly uncurled and turned to face the house.

“What,” he started, gaping at Peter, then down at his feet at the pine cone that hit him previously, “was that?”

“The first test.” Peter shrugged. “You failed. Come on. Let’s get going.” He turned and disappeared around the corner. Stiles kept gaping after him, then turned to see if Chris was anywhere near, if he’d seen what just happened, but he was alone. The front door was closed. He huffed and adjusted his hoodie as he marched after Peter.

Said werewolf was standing at the edge of the forest, roughly where Stiles remembered the shed to be. He walked past the gorgeous sunroom and the small pool they had on this side of the house, angrily glaring at Peter the whole time.

They went into the woods, not running this time, but walking side by side in silence. Peter didn’t seem to be in a good mood today, he didn’t even comment on Stiles’ all white workout clothes even though Stiles knew he wanted to. It was in his eyes when he looked him up and down before walking into the forest. Peter was dressed up this time, a nondescript grey tee, which for once, covered his torso, and baggy jeans Stiles hadn’t seen on him before.

Stiles didn’t know what to make of it when Peter stopped in the middle of the woods, somewhere where the undergrowth was a little denser than usual. He told Stiles to stay put, then disappeared into the shrubs. It was a few minutes later when Stiles heard him say:

“Walk to me.”

“What?” Stiles turned to his left where he heard the voice come from.

“Walk to me.” He repeated, but this time it came from the right. Stiles turned. He frowned as he headed that way. “Cold.” It came from behind him. He spun around but there was no one there.

“Dude, stop it.” Stiles was around fifty percent sure he was going to get serious crazy alpha Peter flashbacks at any minute.

“Find me.” It came from his right again. He turned and started running in that direction. “The other way.” It came from behind him. “Use your senses. Listen to my steps. Sniff out where I’ve been and where I am. Look through the bushes.”

“I thought we established I’m not a wolf.” Stiles said to a tree, annoyed. Peter’s voice came from every direction, one sentence from ahead of him, one from the side, then the other.

“Close your eyes. Filter out the birds, the breeze. Listen for patterns.” Stiles did, but other than the wind overhead, he really didn’t hear anything. “Take a deep breath. What can you smell? The earth after last night’s rain? Rot? The creek nearby? Dirt and animals?”

“Nothing, Peter, I smell nothing.” He opened his eyes, half expecting to find Peter right in front of him.

“Look around. Look for movement. Watch the sway of the leaves. Get familiar with it and ignore it. Look for something else. A bigger body. It’s moving around.” Stiles shook his head, frustrated. “Find me, Stiles. Come to me.”

They played that for a few minutes, then when Peter directed him to his right again, Stiles found himself in the man’s garden, Peter standing in the middle with his arms crossed over his chest.

“That was very useful, really. I told you I don't have heightened senses three times.” Stiles scowled, frustrated.

“Forgive me for not believing someone who’s been bitten a few weeks ago compared to someone who’s been a ‘wolf his whole life.” Peter shrugged. “Now, attack me.”

“What?”

“Come on. You know you want to.” Stiles did. He also wanted to _live_.

“No way.”

“Stiles.” Peter sounded impatient but Stiles didn’t give a damn.

“I’m not attacking you. I know better than that.” Stiles crossed his arms across his chest. Peter looked heavenward.

“If you don’t, then I will.” As he spoke, Peter looked back at him, flashing his ‘wolf eyes. Stiles’ jaw worked as he thought – obviously he didn’t want Peter to attack him. He didn’t want to attack Peter either, but the werewolf seemed adamant about it. So, he didn’t really have a choice. He’d end up with bruises either way.

“I hate you so much.” Stiles said to somewhere over Peter’s shoulder, then he swallowed, rolling his shoulders. He bounced a little on his feet, getting a feel for it, then charged. Peter didn’t meet him head-on, but stepped to the side at the last moment. Having calculated that he’d have a body to collide with by then, Stiles lost his balance and stumbled, trying to stay on his feet, but then he toppled over and fell on his face.

“I’d say that was a pathetic attempt, even for you, but I find your lack of coordination too impressive for that. Did you practice that, or does it come naturally?” Stiles clenched his jaw and pursed his lips as he pushed himself on his feet. He glared at Peter, then tried to punch him in the jaw. His attempt was once again side-stepped. He didn’t stop, turned with Peter and tried to catch him off guard but Peter was faster.

“Oh, come _on_!” Stiles groaned, throwing up his hands. “What’s this gonna prove anyways? That I’m totally useless in hand-to-hand? I already knew that, thanks.” He shook his head. Peter just watched him calmly.

“It’s not a real test if you know what it’s for.” Was all he said, then made a wide gesture at himself. “Come on. Try again.”

Stiles shook his head, annoyed, but charged again. Peter just kept stepping out of his reach and it started to get on his nerves. After three more failed attempts, Stiles was disheveled and panting. His sweat suit was more green than white now. Peter didn’t even have a hair out of place.

He was standing with his back to the house, ready to strike when he heard Chris’ voice for the first time that day. “You’re giving away all your moves. You aren’t even trying to conceal them. Circle him.” Stiles paused, but then he did as Chris said.

As he got to Peter’s other side, he saw Chris standing in the sunroom’s doorway, leaning against it with his ankles crossed. He was dressed like Peter last week, had sweatpants on, with a grey hoodie unzipped. He had one arm crossed over his chest, a steaming mug in the other. He looked like he just woke up.

“Good.” Chris nodded at him as he kept walking around Peter, who didn’t even move, didn’t even tense up. “Move in, as if you were going to attack, but don’t. Just scare him, make him think you’re going to. Then go back to circling.” Peter was smirking when Stiles did as Chris suggested. “Make him confused. Make him think he’s anticipating your moves. Attack at random times.” Stiles did, on his third ‘scare’, he went for a punch. Peter still leaned back from it.

“He’s a wolf. He can hear and feel when your heart rate goes up in preparation to strike. Make all your moves as if you were going to punch. Change your mind just before you make contact. Good.” Stiles did it a few times, then again, went for the real thing. Peter stepped back.

“For fuck’s sake!”

“No, that was good.” Chris commented from the porch. “Did you see how he hesitated for half a second? Sometimes that’s all you need. It means he wasn’t sure if you were going for it.” There was a smirk in the hunter’s voice.

“Careful, Christopher.” Peter smirked as well. It sounded almost… almost as if they were teasing each other. Stiles shivered.

“You’re the punchbag, Hale. You be careful. Change it up, Stiles. You’re going to get dizzy.” Stiles was indeed getting dizzy, so he turned and went the other way. “Good. See how tense he is?” Stiles didn’t, but he tried to punch Peter again anyways. Peter just ducked.

“You’re using way too big movements. That’s why you’re getting winded.” Peter offered.

“I can’t punch smaller!” Stiles exclaimed and Peter surprised him by throwing his head back and laughing. He stepped in Stiles’ path and the boy stopped before knocking into him.

“Step aside. Come on, Argent. You’re on.” Stiles made a face but stepped aside, watching as Chris rolled his eyes, putting his mug on the floor of the porch. He rolled his neck and pulled both arms across his chest, stretching his shoulders. He kicked his legs back, then up a few times, then cracked his neck both sides before facing Peter, posed for a fight.

Peter smirked and gestured at Chris to attack. The older man rolled his eyes, but then walked up to Peter, so they were chest to chest, their toes and noses almost touching. Then he stepped back. Stiles thought he was going to start circling, and Peter must’ve too, because neither of them anticipated Chris taking hold of Peter’s wrist.

He yanked Peter onto himself, and Peter was already raising his other arm, with his claws out, but Chris saw it coming, stopping the strike with his other hand. Then he hooked one ankle behind Peter’s foot and kicked back, Peter fell on his back with a grunt. Chris landed on top of him, one knee between Peter’s legs, the other leg stretched out behind him. He twisted Peter’s wrist to the side, and the ‘wolf bared human teeth at him as the tendons stretched.

It must’ve become too painful, because then Peter turned on his side. Chris took advantage and twisted Peter’s other arm behind his back, so Peter had no choice but to roll on his stomach, Chris’ leg between his making his having to cross at an awkward angle. As soon as he was turned, Peter started growling low in his throat, the sound animalistic. It was strangely arousing.

He stared at the picture the two of them made, the slightly smaller Chris holding the werewolf in place. The muscles in his arms bulged as he pushed Peter’s arm on his back. His back and leg muscles tensed to keep up the position. Before Stiles could think more about it, Chris let go altogether, standing and quickly stepping away.

“You let me win.” Chris said as he wiped at his mouth, eyebrows drawn together.

“Of course, I did.” Peter pushed to his feet, dusting himself off like he wasn’t groaning in pain just seconds before. “I wanted to show Stiles how an experienced fighter would use subtler moves, not spar with you.”

“Oh. In that case, I hope you paid attention.” Chris told Stiles amused. “It’s important to know what would work on your opponent. To take someone down the way I did, I’d have to be familiar with them. Know their weaknesses and strengths.”

“Like what?” Stiles frowned. Chris nodded, as if they were in class and Stiles asked a smart question.

“Werewolves depend too much on their extra assets. Their claws and teeth. By disabling his hands, I took away Peter’s most dangerous weapons. If this was a real fight, he could’ve thrown me off. He’s stronger than me. But he wouldn’t have been able to slash at me just then.”

“If it was a real fight, Christopher, you wouldn’t have come that close in the first place.” Peter flicked his wrist, rolling his eyes. As he looked away, Chris moved in, taking hold of his held-up wrist, turning to shoulder into Peter’s chest. The momentum of the punch threw Peter off-balance and Chris was able to drop him on his back.

Peter glared at him from the ground, but Chris just grinned and offered his hand. Peter took it, but instead of pulling himself up, Peter pulled Chris on top of him, tilting his head so the other man’s forehead collided with his collarbone instead of his jaw. Then he raised a leg and hooked it around Chris’ hip, pinning him against himself, grinning down at the older man meanly.

“Peter. Let me up.” Chris grunted after a beat.

“Just a moment. I’m enjoying this position.” Peter’s smile widened and he dipped his head. Stiles’ eyes widened impossibly as he watched the men peck each other on the lips, then Peter let go of Chris. Stiles gaped as Chris stood with a huff and a roll of his eyes, pulling Peter after him.

Well, that answered a few questions Stiles had, but also created about a million others. Peter seemed unaffected, smirking smugly as he dusted himself off once again, but Chris didn’t look at either of them as he headed to the porch.

Without a word, he picked up his mug and disappeared into the house. Peter turned back to Stiles, cocking an eyebrow.

“Well? You’ve seen how it’s done.” He said. Stiles took a moment to collect himself, stopping the questions before they stumbled out of his mouth. He swallowed, trying to clear his head as he posed for attack.

They didn’t fight for much longer. Stiles still hadn’t managed to touch Peter, let alone punch him, but the werewolf told him he already improved. He took Stiles to the logs again and told him to chop. This time Stiles only managed three. Compared to his five the other week, he felt safe to say he didn’t have supernatural strength. His hands were cramping awfully, but Peter didn’t push him like last time. He just nodded when Stiles said he couldn’t do more and told him that was it for the day.

“Wait, that’s it?”

“Yes. Come by next week, maybe we’ll have answers by then.”

“Why don’t you have answers now?” He asked, annoyed. Peter looked at him flatly. “Ugh.” Stiles groaned when no answer came. “Can I at least sleep in?”

“What consequences do you think you will face if you’re late arriving here?” Peter asked with raised eyebrows as he led Stiles back to his car.

“Huh?” Stiles frowned.

“This isn’t school or an appointment, Stiles. You could show up here at four in the afternoon and we wouldn’t mind.” Peter shrugged with a deadpan look. Stiles’ hackles rose, but he couldn’t lash out because Peter was right.

“Well, sorry for being a decent human being, I guess.” Stiles snapped, opening his door.

“It’s alright. Everybody has flaws.” Peter shrugged, closing the door for him. He patted the hood twice. “Drive safe, Stiles.” He gave him a long, pointed look that Stiles didn’t understand, then walked back to his house.

\--

“Look over there.” Sophie slid up next to him as Stiles was collecting some glasses some patrons left behind at table nine. He looked up, following her line of sight. He almost dropped his tray. “They live outside of town. The older one has a gun business and the younger sells firewood I think.”

Chris Argent and Peter Hale looked around as they got rid of their coats, laying them on the back of their chairs as they sat at table three. Peter had a dark button-down with black jeans on while Chris wore a grey tee with jeans. Stiles watched them with wide eyes before he realized they weren’t supposed to know he was there. He almost hid behind Sophie, stopping himself just short of doing that.

“Uh, you know them?” He asked awkwardly. Sophie shrugged.

“No, unfortunately.” At Stiles' groan she cocked an eyebrow. “Even as a guy you must see how attractive they are.”

“Hey, if you wanna, you can totally serve them.” Stiles offered quickly. Table three was his, but it wasn’t like they didn’t trade every now and then.

“For real?” Sophie grinned. Stiles nodded and she kissed him on the cheek before skipping up to their table. Sophie was almost as pretty as Lydia. She had long, curly hair and preferred to wear sundresses, even though the weather wasn’t the warmest throughout the year in Oregon. She wore cowboy boots outside and liked country music, so she wasn’t quite like Lydia, but they came pretty close.

He ducked his head as Chris and Peter ordered, taking the glasses back, then he checked on his tables as quietly and unnoticed as possible. It wasn’t easy because it poured outside, so they didn’t have much traffic.

It took until Sophie returned with their drink orders – beer for Chris, lemonade for Peter – for them to notice him. He was just passing behind Sophie because table seven wanted more bread. As Peter looked up to thank Sophie for their drinks, he caught sight of Stiles.

“Well, would you look at that.” He said, not kindly. Stiles froze at the tone, it reminded him too much of when he was still half-crazy and killing people. Chris’ head snapped up, following Peter’s gaze immediately.

“Peter.” His tone was warning.

“Sweetheart, would you mind switching with Stiles over there to serve us?” Peter smiled up at Sophie sweetly, who looked on confused. She turned to look at Stiles questioningly. Stiles was frozen in place.

“Uh, no, this is my table. We don’t trade.” She turned back with a hard stare.

“Then why did you serve the guests on the other side?” Peter’s eyebrows rose. “I doubt you have such a complicated system, this seems like a fine establishment.”

“Hale, that’s enough.” Chris’ voice was almost a growl. Stiles swallowed his pride and cleared his throat, telling Sophie:

“It’s alright. I can serve them.”

“Are you sure?” Her gaze held deeper concern than their easy friendship called for. Stiles was both grateful and annoyed.

“It’s fine. How did you say? Everyone has a past here.” Stiles avoided her eyes as he stepped closer to the table. She hesitated, then left, slowly, throwing looks over her shoulder. Stiles clenched his teeth. “So,” Stiles drawled, once Sophie was busy with a table, “cat’s out of the bag?”

“I’m more of a dog person.” Peter shrugged. Chris sent him a warning look, then turned back to Stiles.

“How long have you been in Diamond Creek?”

“Clearly, long enough to get a job, Christopher.” Both of them ignored Peter.

“Around a month now?” Stiles shifted on his feet. “Look, I gotta go back to work…”

“Did you follow us here?” Chris cut him off sharply.

“What? No. I didn’t know you were here until I met you. Can I go now?” He was annoyed now. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked away. It was too bad he couldn’t escape the place. Even with the patio doors open to let the stuffy breeze in, he felt like there wasn’t enough air in the room. He tried to ignore the two men as long as he could, but eventually, they had to order. He walked back to the table stiffly, but the atmosphere changed, Chris relaxed and half his beer was gone.

“Finally, I’ve been ready to order for ten minutes now.” Peter said. Stiles rolled his eyes, pulling out his notepad. “I’ll have a steak, rare, with mashed potatoes. Christopher here will have fried chicken with rice.”

“Anything else?” Stiles asked as he scribbled the order down.

“Your number.” Peter had the galls to wink at him. Chris rolled his eyes, but all Stiles could think of was that kiss last weekend and his cheeks flushed.

“I can’t decide if that’s creepy or gross,” Stiles commented, then left them. Twenty minutes later their food was done and other than sometimes catching the two men following him around the bar with their gazes, they stayed put. Once Stiles put their plates in front of them, Chris stopped him.

“We do want your number though.” He said, but he didn’t sound as flirty as Peter. Stiles raised his brows. “It’s easier to message you if we find something than you coming out every weekend.”

“Alright,” Stiles said after a beat, then quickly wrote his number on a blank page, tearing it off and handing it over. “This is for you. Not him.” He pointed at Peter with his pen, who pouted at him. With a roll of his eyes, Stiles left to tend to his other tables.

The rest of their meal, Chris and Peter didn’t seem to pay any mind to Stiles. He didn’t go around to check on them, only once they started to look around, finished. He took away their plates and they politely declined dessert and asked for the check.

On the back of it, Peter wrote down his number and handed over without a wink this time, just with a promise they’d see him on Saturday. Then they got up and left. Stiles watched through the windows as the cross-country pulled out of the parking lot, turning towards the main road, then disappearing behind the grocery store.

Sophie tried to ask him about them after work, but Stiles just told her to drop it. Sophie wasn’t forthcoming with her own stories, so Stiles felt justified, even if he felt bad for not confiding in her. It wouldn’t be good anyways. She didn’t need to know about the kind of things Stiles lived through. How would he explain anyways?

“I know them from back home, Peter was a serial killer alpha werewolf and Chris is a werewolf hunter whose daughter I killed when I was possessed by an ancient Japanese fox demon.” That would be a fun conversation.

\--

Stiles pulled up to the cabin on Saturday morning two hours after their agreed time. They didn’t text him or call, so he assumed he was supposed to still show up. He parked beside another car, a pickup that stood where he usually parked.

As he got close to the front door, it was Chris who opened it for him before he could even knock. For a moment, Stiles wondered if he was a werewolf too, then pushed the thought aside.

“Good morning, Stiles.” He opened the door wider to let him inside. He was in sweatpants and a dark blue tee this time. Once inside, he led him to the kitchen. Stiles sat, looking around.

“Where’s Peter?” He asked as Chris went behind the counter and started preparing tea for Stiles. He looked up at the question, eyes flickering towards the ceiling.

“Our contractor is here. They’re discussing details about the second floor.” Stiles looked up as well, not seeing anything other than long, sturdy logs, or what looked like it. Stiles remembered what Chris said about the walls being sculptured to look like real wood. It also explained the pickup out front. Stiles nodded slowly.

“You’re redesigning?”

“Yes and no.” Chris was done with pouring hot water in the cup and put it in front of Stiles. He leaned his hips against the counter. He tapped his finger on the stone, looking around the house fondly. “The log cabin that stood here, it used to be just this room. We had to demolish it and rebuild the whole thing. We came pretty unexpectedly. They had to finish the first floor so we could move in, and some… issues that should’ve been resolved during construction were avoided in the process. We have a new frame to work with, so the layout for the second floor had to be redone. We have the new design, Richie is just walking Peter through it, and they try to cut a few corners.”

“Huh.” Stiles blinked. While Chris talked, he wrapped a hand around his cup and gazed around the room too. “So, uh… You guys moved here together?” _On purpose_ , he wanted to ask. Chris hummed in response, not looking at Stiles. “Like…” Stiles scratched his face, looking anywhere but at Chris. “You know…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Like a couple?” He carefully glanced at Chris from the corner of his eyes.

The older man didn’t flinch or seem really surprised at all. He calmly looked Stiles up and down, pursing his lips. The silence stretched out until they heard footsteps, then voices from down the hallway.

Peter showed up first, dressed casually in a V-neck and jeans, followed by a dark-skinned man who had a few papers in his hand and cigarette behind his ear. He nodded to Stiles but didn’t introduce himself. He turned to Chris.

“I imagine you’ll need to talk this through one more time before we get started. Peter will fill you in. Let me know what you decide.”

“Thank you, Richie. You’re great.” Chris smiled at him, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’ll call you, probably on Monday.” Peter led the man to the front door, where they shook hands. While Peter returned, Chris made another tea and put it on the counter next to Stiles, where Peter sat once he returned.

“Good morning, Stiles.” He said as he picked up his tea and sipped from it, even though it must’ve been still too hot.

“So, what are we doing today?” Stiles asked, trying his own tea. It was different than the one he got the last time, something a bit more bitter and it tasted like lemon. He made a face but didn’t comment. “Are you going to make me run again? Or throw axes at me? Make me lift? Make me climb a boulder?”

“No. I think we concluded pretty much all we could from the tests we did so far. Now we research.” Peter said.

“No need to be here for this of course.” Chris added, looking over at Stiles. “We narrowed it down to a few possibilities, but it’s pretty much boring groundwork now.”

“I can help.” Stiles shrugged. “As I should, probably. You pretty much taught me how to fight last week, so it’s only fair, right?” He smirked. Peter returned it, a sharp smile of his own, but Chris frowned as he leaned his hands on the counter to look into Stiles’ eyes.

“No. You should go home. We’ll contact you if we find anything.”

“Excuse me?” Stiles blinked at him, eyebrows drawn together.

“Whatever this is, whatever you are, you shouldn’t get mixed up in it. You had your run with Scott and Derek, but didn’t you have enough?” his eyebrows rose. “You’re not in immediate danger anymore. You can go back to your life. As human.”

“Okay, whatever this is about, I’m not a damsel in distress. I can handle myself.”

“I know that. But you don’t need to live this life. I’m sure it’s exciting and all, but it’s also deadly.” He looked solemn and serious. “Too many people died from the supernatural, Stiles. I don’t want you to be the next.”

“Is this about Allison?” Stiles narrowed his eyes, glad his voice didn’t break on Allison’s name. “Is—is this because, because you’re mad at me?”

“What?” The frown on his face was familiar, at least, not like the grief.

“I killed Allison, I know that. And I’m sorry. But I can’t—I can’t just let this go. Whatever I am, I may be dangerous. I need to know.” He gritted his teeth, not looking at Chris. He looked down at his tea instead, feeling slightly nauseous.

“You didn’t kill Allison.” When Stiles looked up, he saw pain and defiance on Chris’ face as he shook his head in denial. “It was the Nogitsune. It was a demon. It was supernatural. Don’t you see? I’m trying to protect you from the same destiny that Allison suffered.”

“He doesn’t need your protection, Christopher.” To his surprise, Peter spoke next to him. He sounded calm and collected, but there was a warning undertone as well.

“Maybe I need to protect him for me.” Chris huffed, then shook his head as he went around the counter and disappeared down the hallway. Stiles followed his movements with his eyes, eyebrows drawn together. Then he met Peter’s gaze.

“So, how does that work? He’s fine with me coming here and sparing with you guys, but reading books is out of line?” He scowled. Peter chuckled.

“No. It’s more about when we saw you at the restaurant.” Peter spoke looking down at his cup, his face slightly amused but it didn’t reach his eyes quite right. When he didn’t elaborate, Stiles made an impatient gesture, legs bouncing.

“Why?”

“This…” Peter sighed, raising his head to look out the kitchen window. He paused, shaking his head slowly as he worked his jaw. “This is between the two of you. I don’t particularly care about Argent’s reasoning. Now come on. I’ll walk you out.”

“What, he’s mad at me so I can’t even stay?”

“Well, it’s his house as much as mine.” Peter shrugged. “If he doesn’t want you to stay… I don’t care either way.” Somehow Stiles felt like Peter just said that out of habit, not really meaning it, but he didn’t comment. He followed Peter out the front door. He walked up to his car and just as he was ready to shut the door, Peter took hold of it.

“I’ll text you if we find anything. And if we don’t, I’ll convince Chris to get you involved too.” Stiles’ eyes found the cabin again, but upon seeing it, Peter said: “You’re worried he’ll stay mad?” He sounded amused as he tilted his head to the side, looking at Stiles through narrowed eyes.

“Why are you suddenly on my side?” Stiles frowned at him instead of answering. Peter shrugged.

“I don’t pick sides. But I might talk to him if you wish. Consider it a favor. Which means I might just ask for one in return.” He smirked as he looked Stiles up and down. Stiles shivered.

“I don’t want to owe you.”

“Too late. Drive safe, Stiles.” With that, Peter shut the car’s door and walked back to the front door. Stiles watched his retreating back for a moment, then shook his head and drove off.

\--

“Argent was totally weird about the whole thing.” Stiles said as he licked his finger. The tomato sauce was heavenly.

“That’s _Mr. Argent_ to you. Why was he weird?” The buzzing of the police station was a harsh contrast to Stiles’ quiet kitchen. He lifted the lid off the pasta’s bowl.

“He was all ‘oh, you should go back to your old life’ and all that.” Stiles hissed as the pasta he tried to fish out of the water burned his finger. At least now he knew it overcooked. He turned off the heat.

“I can’t say I blame him. After all, that was the reason you moved away.”

“It was part of the reason, not _the_ reason.” Stiles huffed as he stirred the tomato sauce. The bottom of it burnt. “But I need to know what I am. What if I find myself one day in bed, covered in blood with no memory how I got there?”

“Then you call me and we figure it out. You’re fine, kid. Don’t make a bigger deal out of it than necessary.”

“Why exactly isn’t it necessary?” Stiles asked, annoyed, trying to juggle the phone and the pasta bowl at the same time. “Look, nothing good ever came out of the bite before, okay? Lydia was like, the best-case scenario so far and she was seeing a dead dude for months. I don’t want to see dead dudes, dad, ghosts are fucky!”

“ _’Fucky’_ ?” Noah sounded incredulous. “ _Are you_ seeing dead dudes?”

“No?” Stiles frowned, dropping the bowl. He cursed as he put the phone on the counter, quickly draining the water from the pasta. He heard his father speak but it was just a small, tinny noise. He put the bowl aside, letting the pasta drip off in the sink while he went back to the sauce, picking up his phone.

“—good?” His father was saying.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that, I had a pasta emergency.” Noah sighed.

“I said, if you don’t see ghosts, then I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Let them figure it out. No need to get involved unless something happens.”

“See, this is the attitude that led to all this in the first place.” Stiles clicked his tongue, annoyed. “I’m just saying, I’d rather know and not do anything about it than not know and end up dead, or worse. Besides, I’m pretty much involved. Since, you know, it’s about _my life_.”

“Fine. Be that way, but don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.” With that, the topic was dropped and they went back discussing Noah’s disregard towards his Stiles-approved diet.

\--

It took another week and half for Stiles to see Chris and Peter. He expected to see them sooner than that, awaited Peter’s text but it never came. He was at the grocery store, talking with Scott when he ran into them.

“Yeah, we’re not, you know, a pack or anything.” Scott was saying. “But we’re getting to the point where everybody seems fine.”

“That’s really good.” Stiles nodded. He was holding his phone awkwardly between his shoulder and his ear to check out the rice they kept there. It was a different brand than he was used to.

“How is Oregon? Still rainy?” Scott asked with a smile in his voice. After having listened to Stiles complain about the weather for minutes a few weeks back, it was always his first question. Stiles wanted to think Scott was trying to make it into a private joke, in an attempt to get things back to normal. Stiles didn’t think it was working.

“It is. It’s awful. But it’s mostly fine, you know? Dad is starting to ask about university, which is annoying. But you know, sleepy little town.”

“And…” Scott hesitated. “And your, you know, situation?”

“What, the fact I’m still bitten and not showing symptoms?” Stiles wished Scott would just say that, but he sounded relieved he didn’t have to, just agreed. “Still nothing. I’d be less worried if it was a Lydia situation, you know?” Stiles moved from rice to spices. “Like, a few days of coma, seeing dead serial killers, stuff like that. I get this instead.” He frowned at the rosemary.

“That sucks dude.”

“You tell me,” Stiles murmured as he dropped the rosemary and looked at some exotic spices. “This uncertainty is killing me. My anxiety levels are over the roof. What if I’m secretly a killer? Nobody knows, because I’m just me!” He shrugged. Someone stopped next to him and he cringed, hoping they didn’t pay him any mind, or just wrote his comment off as something else. “It doesn’t help that Derek’s contacts are silent since they threw me out the other week.”

He never told Scott who he was seeing on a regular basis, but Scott did know he was getting help. For one, they asked him to keep it discreet and Scott… He wouldn’t understand anyways. Nothing against him, he just wasn’t the type of guy who would understand Stiles hanging around an ex-serial killer and Allison’s dad.

“What was the fight about again?” Scott sounded like he was frowning.

Stiles dropped some Mexican spice mix in his cart, leaning his forearms on the handle and would’ve started walking down the aisle like that, but somebody from behind him grabbed his arm. He dropped the phone, twisting around and bringing his hands up – he didn’t know if he planned on punching them or defending himself, but it turned out he didn’t need to do either. Chris was looking at him with that furrowed eyebrows expression he had down pat. Stiles pulled his arm out of his grasp.

“Warn a guy next time, would you?” He asked, annoyed, bending to pick up his phone. The impact ended his call with Scott. As he was straightening up, another familiar voice chimed in from behind him.

“Well, that’s a view I don’t mind seeing.” Stiles swirled around, glaring. Peter had a smug grin plastered on his face. Stiles flushed.

“Creepy _and_ gross.” Peter pouted, but then he moved down the aisle, looking at shelves. Chris stayed by Stiles’ side, still looking at him. “What?”

“Look… Stiles, what I said the other day, it’s, uh…” Chris trailed off, looking over Stiles’ shoulder with his tongue in his cheek before turning back to him. “I won’t lie and tell you I didn’t mean it. Because I did. But I was out of line. You deserve to know what you are.”

“Hell yes I do.” Stiles mumbled with his eyebrows drawn. He pursed his lips. “Fine. Apology accepted. But next time you’re feeling protective, I’d like to remind you I’ve survived Peter, I’ve survived the Kanima, the alpha pack and the Nogitsune. I’ve been dealing with this on my own just fine, ever since I was sixteen—”

“So, like, two days ago, right?” Peter quipped in as he passed Stiles on the aisle, rolling his cart next to Chris. Stiles turned his eyes skyward, throwing up his hands.

“Nobody asked you.”

“Well, you should’ve.” Peter shrugged. “I could’ve put all our minds to rest two weeks ago, if that was all that was needed to be said.”

“Hale.” Chris warned, but Peter didn’t pay him any mind.

“Now, if you’re done with your heart-to-heart in the middle of the store, we could go home and finally grill that mahi-mahi you got me.” The last bit was addressed to Chris, who took a deep breath and smiled apologetically at Stiles.

“What’s a mahi-mahi?” Stiles frowned at Peter’s profile.

“A green monster that’s currently taking up all the room in our freezer. It’s delicious, you should come over and try it.” Stiles’ gut reaction was rejection, thinking Peter was just his usual, creepy self, then he saw Chris’ raised eyebrows at him.

“Was that a genuine invitation or you just want to throw me off?” He scowled. Peter shrugged.

“I don’t make empty threats and I don’t do polite invitations. Come and we’ll feed you or don’t come and we’ll text you if we find anything.” Stiles paused, thinking for a moment, watching Chris and Peter watching him, waiting for his reply.

“Fine. But if I go, I want to see what you’ve been working on.”

“Naturally.” Peter made a motion with his hand Stiles couldn’t interpret, then he turned and started pushing his cart. “Come whenever. Christopher, you promised to look for dragon fruit. Don’t make me find it myself.” With that, Peter rolled away with confident strides, and after a pause, Chris followed with a nod towards Stiles.

\--

If Stiles was being honest, grilled fish sounded way better than the risotto he planned on throwing together for himself. He drove behind their cross-country, and soon the three of them stepped through the front door, grocery bags in all their hands after Peter pushed one in his too.

Chris seemed to be in charge of the kitchen, because as soon as the bags were on the counter, Peter disappeared inside. Stiles was left to stand there awkwardly, until Chris started to put away the groceries without even looking at him. Then he sat, watching Chris work.

After all the bags were empty, Chris struggled with something under the counter Stiles sat at. He felt the vibrations of the bangs and clangs he heard from underneath, then Chris straightened up with a huge, green fish in his hand. Stiles’ mouth fell open at the sight of it.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Chris asked after dumping the animal on the counter behind himself, next to the sink.

“It’ll last us a week.” Peter said as he appeared in the room, wearing sweatpants and nothing else, his hair was damp.

“You always whine at me to buy some. I bought some.” Chris smirked at Peter. Peter snorted, watching the fish.

“Your pettiness reaches levels I cannot match, my darling.” Peter nodded as he stepped closer, running a hand down Chris’ arm. Chris’ smirk softened and he raised his hand to squeeze Peter’s elbow.

“Just so we’re clear,” Stiles chimed in because he couldn’t not to, “you bought an entire fish because you were fed up with Peter always asking for it?”

“I know, right?” Peter’s smile was sharp and amused, little wrinkles appearing in the corners of his eyes, making him look even softer, with his hair down and his beard untrimmed. “I know how to pick them.” With that, he leaned in and pecked Chris on the cheek.

“I’d say you bullied your way into this, but sure.” Chris was frowning as he stepped away. “Either help me or leave me alone and do your thing.”

“No need to tell me twice.” Peter stepped away with his hands raised. He turned to Stiles. “Do you want to check on our progress now or after lunch?”

“Uh, you’re asking?” Stiles grimaced surprised. He expected Peter to just give commands all the time.

“Well, yes. I need to work and if you want to check out the books, you need a babysitter.” Stiles’ shackles rose at that and he was fully prepared to verbally rip Peter a new one when Chris chimed in.

“It’s a construction zone up there and unless you know the hot spots, you’ll end up falling through the floor.” He explained as he got out a stone and started sharpening a knife. “Even I don’t go up there without Peter there to tell me when I’m stepping on creaky sheets.”

“Oh.” Stiles looked up at the ceiling. The sturdy beams holding it seemed stable enough, but he wasn’t going to argue. It wasn’t his house. He wouldn’t have let them snoop in his apartment either.

“So?” Peter raised his eyebrows.

“Go, work, I’m fine for now. Need to call Scott back anyways.” He waved a dismissive hand.

“Alright.” Peter headed to the living room, but before he could exit the house, Chris called out:

“Shoes, Hale, you’re not staining my floor with bloody feet.”

“If I wanted a mother, I’d have married one, Argent.” Peter answered, but Stiles saw him slip into some shoes by the door.

“We’re not married and that’s my floor, so I get to make the rules.”

“A man polishes and oils a few pieces of wood and suddenly it’s his floor.” Peter grumbled as he stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind him. Chris shrugged, as if Peter could still see him and positioned his knife to cut the fish down the middle.

“Damn right he does,” Chris mumbled under his breath as he cut into the meat with precision. Stiles didn’t want to be amused by their bickering, but he had to repress his smile. He looked over his shoulder when the first muffled, sharp bangs started, watching as Peter cut wood, holding the axe in one hand.

He found himself glued to the sight, watching as Peter’s muscles flexed and relaxed in his back. His skin was smooth and looked dry, but after several strikes it started glistening in the dim light. It was another rainy day, but Stiles was pretty used to it by then. Peter seemed completely at ease, almost relaxed as he did the practiced moves. Stiles found himself wanting to join him and feel the satisfaction of managing to break a log in two, four pieces.

He looked back at Chris, who now had two halves of the fish in front of him, running his fingers over the meat, then stopped, picked up tweezers Stiles didn’t see him take out, plucking at the meat until a long, thin bone came out.

He looked back outside, then stood, walking to the door. He looked back one more time, but Chris was still leaned over the animal, clever hands working on the fish. He stepped outside. Peter didn’t turn, just finished his strike, then tossed the finished pieces in the ever-growing pile next to him.

“So, what exactly do you do with all that?” He asked as he sat by the door.

“I sell it.” Peter answered without looking at him, putting another log up. “You’d think there’s no business in firewood in Oregon, but it turns out people are dumb.” He said as he struck, then adjusted the half-log to cut that in half as well.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Stiles snorted.

“Butterflies are scavengers.” Peter looked over his shoulder with raised eyebrows and a smirk.

“Some worms can jump.” Stiles shrugged. “I like to read, too.”

“Funny.” Peter huffed.

“So, uh, question.” Stiles started after a pause. He pursed his lips, picking up a small piece of wood from the ground, playing with it between his hands as he tried to avoid looking at Peter. From his peripheral vision he saw Peter turn towards him but he didn’t look up. “How long have you been, you know… together?” He pushed his tongue in his cheek as he looked up. Peter wasn’t looking at him.

“For a while.” He didn’t sound angry at the question, so Stiles felt confident to follow up.

“For a while? What does that mean?” At that, Peter shot him a flat look, not answering as he kept chopping wood. For a few minutes Stiles just sat there and watched, a slow-burning arousal deep in his stomach a constant presence. God, Peter looked like a god with his naked torso, swinging the axe with one hand like it took him no effort whatsoever. It probably didn’t. Stiles’ palms were still aching from phantom cramps.

“Peter.” Chris stood in the doorway. The sound jerked Stiles out of his daydreams and he felt his face flush. He felt embarrassed for salivating over a former serial killer, but on the other hand, Peter… changed. Not much. He was still an unpleasant person to be around, but his edges softened and Stiles marveled if he was like that before the fire, or if it was only Beacon Hills that made him sharper. Maybe Chris was a positive influence on him.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” Chris said without waiting for a reply from Peter.

“Give me a minute.” Chris nodded and stepped back into the house. Peter cut up two more logs, then he picked them up, herded Stiles inside and out the kitchen door, through the sunroom and on the patio there. There was an impressive grill set up, one that was now clustered with bowls and plates where Chris was cutting tomatoes.

Peter opened the lid of the grill and lifted the bars above the fire pit, dropping two of the eight quarter-logs he took from the other yard. As he picked up the box of matches next to it, Stiles couldn’t help but frown. He knew Peter had to be at least cautious with fire after all that’s happened to him, but if he was, he showed none of it. Chris didn’t seem concerned either.

Peter didn’t even flinch when the flames roared to life, the splintered wood crackling and sizzling.

“How’s Scott?” Chris asked unexpectedly, not looking up. Stiles stood in the cover of the roof while the grill with Peter and Chris, side-by-side were out in the open. Stiles crossed his arms across his chest and frowned.

“Fine, I guess.” He didn’t really want to talk about Scott. He knew Chris and Peter were at least fine with him but he had no idea where they stood with Scott. Chris hummed at the answer and pushed the cut-up tomatoes in the bowl next to him. “What’s that?” Stiles asked, just to steer the conversation to safer waters.

“Salad.” Chris didn’t sound condescending but his tone was flat.

“It… uh, looks delicious.” He said as he scratched the back of his neck.

“Thanks. I try. I used to be awful at cooking, but I either learn or go out every day with Peter.” It sounded like an old argument and sure enough, Stiles saw Peter roll his eyes as he rolled the logs, not all of them on fire anymore. “

“This is very idle,” Peter grumbled. “What’s next, you’ll discuss the weather?”

“Hale.”

“Argent.” Peter drawled then paused. “On a slightly more interesting note, what made you move to Diamond Creek, Stiles?”

“I just wanted a bit of change of pace I guess.” Stiles shrugged. He didn’t really want to talk about this either, so he turned the tables instead. “How did you find this place?” Stiles asked, gesturing around. Chris took Peter’s place and pulled cellophane off one of the bowls by his elbow, taking sweet potatoes out with a tong, placing them above the embers.

“It used to belong to a pack I knew,” Peter said, side-eying Stiles. “They didn’t have use for it after they were attacked and fled the area.” He shrugged. Then Chris took over and told Stiles again how they'd found it in bad condition and decided to build a proper home in the place of the little wooden cabin.

Stiles let himself relax into the conversation. Chris seemed smitten with the cabin and he talked about it with fondness. Stiles had no doubt he enjoyed the simplicity of floor plans and construction work. It was probably a relief to have something so mundane to occupy his mind after Allison’s death, so Stiles didn’t point out he understood almost nothing of what was being said.

When Chris ran out of things to tell him about the house, Peter took over, asking Stiles how he liked living away from his dad. Stiles, reluctantly at first, told them about his life so far in Oregon, about his future plans to go to university… eventually. He didn’t even notice moving inside the sunroom to eat possibly the best fish Stiles ever had, and he told Chris as much as well.

Chris preened under the praises, though it was hard to tell because he wasn’t an overly expressive man. His lips curled into a satisfied smile and he bowed his head a little – that was all the clue Stiles got. Of course, Peter couldn’t handle the attention on anyone but himself, so he chimed in, taking credit for the idea.

It turned out it was Peter’s favorite food, he ate it for the first time when he went to Hawaii when he was in his early twenties, before the fire. The topic could’ve been heavy, but Peter talked about those days with fondness, just as when Chris told stories about failed cooking attempts when Allison was young.

Stiles found himself at ease with them. He really didn’t want to like the men, but he had to admit, they were interesting people with different enough lives to keep each other on their toes – and apparently, Stiles too, it seemed. When the two of them bickered, and Stiles couldn’t hold himself back from making a comment, they included him without missing a beat.

It was almost scary, how much Stiles enjoyed himself.

After the delicious lunch, Stiles was almost reluctant to move. He leaned back in his chair in the cozy sunroom, enjoying his food-coma. The sunroom was a piece of art. It had glass walls, like all sunrooms, and it was packed with plants. Stiles didn’t even recognize most of them and he was fairly sure some of them were endangered.

Chris seemed at ease to just lean back and sip his lemonade as well – something he made himself, but looked like it belonged to a restaurant. For all his bitching, Peter accepted a glass as well, so Stiles felt safe to have one. It was just as amazing as everything else.

Peter wasn’t as relaxed as Chris seemed to be. He praised the food a little, just enough that he let Chris know he enjoyed it but not more than what he’d pass along to the chef with a waiter at a restaurant. Then, just as Stiles thought he was actually going to fall asleep, Peter got up and started moving. He put away the plates, Stiles heard him rinse them off, then he returned with an impatient air around him.

“I’ve let you lounge enough. Let’s go, take a look at those books.” With that, he turned and disappeared inside. Stiles blinked his eyes awake and looked over at Chris, in time to see him repress a yawn.

“What’s up with him?” Stiles asked, frowning, pushing himself up. Chris shrugged and picked up his drink, heading inside. Stiles frowned but followed him.

Then they went upstairs. Stiles had never been past the main room of the house, and he was eager to see the rest, but tried not to show just how eager. Down the mysterious hallway were the bedrooms, on the same side as the living room. There were two, small guest rooms and a guest bathroom. The master bedroom took up almost as big of a space as the joined kitchen and living room did, dominating the back of the house. The stairs were positioned behind and above the guest rooms. The second floor truly looked like a construction zone.

There was a sheet separating it from the stairs, then they arrived to a spacious attic space. Roughly where the middle of the house was, was a wall that cut the entire floor in half, Stiles suspected it was the same wall where the living room ended. There was a door shaped hole in the wall, and from there, Stiles saw into the other half of the floor. That room, unlike the one they arrived into, held boxes upon boxes at one wall. There were a bunch of books scattered around the floor.

Peter led them there, and Stiles, just like Chris, followed his steps almost paranoidly. The floor was covered with sheet wood, so Stiles suspected there wasn’t real floor underneath his feet. There were more sheets and debris all around the rooms.

“This is going to be a study and library,” Chris said as they walked through the first room. “And this is just a sitting room, a comfortable space.” He said as they stepped through the doorway into the half-open other room.

“You’re missing a corner there.” Stiles pointed at where there was a hole in the corner of the house.

“That’s where we wanted some ceiling to floor windows to be. The idea was that this whole wall would be knocked down, but Richie said the guys didn’t do a good job on the supports, so we either redo the whole framing up here or settle for a corner view.”

“What are you going to do?” Stiles asked as Peter settled, cross-legged on the floor. Chris and Stiles followed suit.

“Probably redo the framing,” Chris explained. He knocked on the wooden sheet beneath himself. “The floors aren’t done anyways, and we have a fairly okay support below this room. We need some storage space too. The old plan was to have a room built over there,” he pointed opposite the missing corner, “but it wouldn’t have enough support. So, we decided to cut the room in half lengthwise instead of widthwise like it is now. This whole wall will be the attic and the two rooms will shrink a little, which is better anyways.”

“Huh.” Stiles looked over the space, kind of seeing what Chris meant. Then Peter pulled a book in his lap and stifled any more construction talk as he told Stiles about what they knew so far.

They didn’t really find anything. They ruled out most creatures, now had only a handful, but no way of telling which one Stiles was. They read through some more books before Stiles decided he had enough. Peter led them downstairs, but then disappeared inside the master bedroom.

Chris accompanied Stiles outside, but unlike Peter, he stayed a respectable distance from the car as Stiles got in. Instead of saying “drive safe” and walking away, he just raised his hand as Stiles pulled away, staying standing there until the trees covered him and the cabin in Stiles’ rearview mirror.

\--

The next time Stiles saw Chris and Peter, they arrived at the bar with a cloud of heavy tension around them. They sat at table three again, not looking at each other. Stiles raised his eyebrows, then quickly finished jutting down his patrons’ order before he skipped over to them, picking up two menus.

“Did something happen? Do you know what am I? God, I’m some kind of demon again, aren’t I?” Stiles rambled as he put their menus down and poured water from the pitcher on the table. Before he could fill Peter’s glass too, he covered it with his hand.

“What are you talking about?” Peter asked with a frown. His beard made it softer though, like he was just confused instead of annoyed, like his tone suggested he was. Gosh, Stiles couldn’t get over that stupid beard. It changed Peter’s face completely.

“Well…” Stiles hesitated, looking between the two of them. “Isn’t that why you’re here?” Peter’s frown deepened as he wrinkled his nose, eyes narrowing as he shook his head in disbelief. It was such a patronizing, such an inherently Peter gesture that Stiles felt almost good about being on the receiving end.

“We’re here because we wanted to dine out for a change,” Chris answered, picking up his menu.

“That’s not quite right, is it?” Peter turned to look at Chris. “We’re here because I insisted. We would be in Medford if it were up to Chris, wouldn’t we?” Stiles’ eyebrows rose.

“Peter.”

“Christopher. I’m only telling the truth.”

“Enough.” Chris’ jaw clenched. “You’ve made your point. Alright?”

“I’m just gonna…” Stiles drawled quietly as he pointed towards one of his tables, taking a step away from the table. Chris and Peter kept arguing, so he left them to it, only returning once they stopped and were looking in two different directions. Stiles stopped next to them, his eyebrows already raised. “You talk it out?” He asked.

“No. Come by the cabin on Saturday.” Peter stood and left. Before Stiles could turn and ask Chris what happened, he stood and left too, leaving Stiles standing there, gaping after them. Sophie was quick to check on him.

“You alright?”

“Huh?” He turned to her, shaking his head to clear it. “Uh, yeah. Just fine”

“That was weird. What was it about?”

“Beats me.” Stiles shrugged. “Table four wants you back.” He nodded over her shoulder where two girls raised their glasses in their direction. It was easier to get lost in work than think about what the two men were arguing about.

Not that it was any of Stiles’ business. They were a werewolf and a hunter. They probably fought all the time. Just because Stiles hadn’t seen it in the past month he spent with them didn’t mean they didn’t. There was no point worrying about it. None.

\--

By the time Stiles pulled up to the house, his lip was bleeding where he’d been biting it raw in the last few days in his anxiety. He didn’t even know why he was anxious. He just knew that whatever Peter and Chris fought about had to do with him and he wanted to know what exactly. He got out, looking around, but the clearing was quiet. It was still early. He walked up to the front door, but it didn’t open for him, so he knocked.

“Come in!” Came from the inside. Stiles’ eyebrows rose at Chris’s voice and the thought that he might be a werewolf as well ran through him. Chris was in the living room. The coffee table was pushed up to the sofa, so there was an empty spot in front of the TV. He was… doing something.

He was crouched down, balancing himself on only one leg while the other was extended in front of him, parallel to the ground. His back was straight and his eyes closed, while his hands were pressed to his chest, palm to palm. He was wearing a grey tank top and black sweatpants.

“Hello,” Stiles said, hesitating between the kitchen and the living room.

“Good morning, Stiles,” Peter said from the hallway with a water bottle in one hand, an iPhone in his other. There were earphones hooked in his neck and he was in an almost matching outfit as Chris. Stiles looked at his phone, but he wasn’t that early. “We slept in.” Peter said as he went to the kitchen door. “I’ll be back in thirty.”

“Be careful.” Chris didn’t open his eyes, and Peter just nodded in answer as he stepped outside. Stiles watched as he slid the phone in a case strapped to his arm and tied the water bottle to his hips by some loop on his sweatpants. Then he started stretching and Stiles looked away.

“Uh, I can come back later?” Stiles pointed to the front door with his thumb. Chris finally opened his eyes and looked up at him. Stiles didn’t know how he didn’t lose his balance, but Chris didn’t even sway.

“Come, there’s enough room.” Stiles hesitantly stepped between Chris and the coffee table. “Just copy me, it should be easy.” Chris put his floating leg on the ground, then let his arms down by his sides, exhaling soundly. Then he bent his leg and shifted his weight onto his other leg, moving his arms fluidly so he ended up standing with his front leg bent, the other extended behind him, his toe touching the ground. His arms were extended above his head, straight and pointing somewhere between the ceiling and the windows.

“You want me to yoga?” Stiles’ eyebrows jumped to his hairline.

“If you want.” Stiles thought Chris tried to shrug, but he couldn’t really, not in this position. Stiles sat on the coffee table. Chris smiled and didn’t seem offended as he raised his back leg, bringing it parallel with the ground.

“Shit, dude.” Stiles hissed and rubbed where his thigh met his hips in sympathy.

“Peter wanted us to talk,” Chris said, sounding like the pose didn’t take him any effort to hold. “He wanted me to tell you why I was… Against you researching with us.”

“Are we talking about the same Peter Hale who said we should let innocent people die when Boyd and Cora were half-crazy?” Stiles frowned. Chris just hummed in response. “That dude wants us to talk.” He said flatly, furrowing his brows.

“Peter is…”

“Complicated?” Stiles guessed when he didn’t finish.

“Quite simple, actually. If he has an endgame, he isn’t afraid to use all his resources to achieve what he wants.”

“In this scenario, talking is in his arsenal?”

“More often than not.” Chris moved then, putting his leg down, then shifting so his weight rested on both legs, knees straight. It brought him face-to-face with Stiles. He then reached down with one arm towards his right leg, then brought his other to the same spot, just over his head, so his face was sandwiched between muscular biceps. Stiles bet, if he was looking from the side, he would be completely flat.

“Can you even talk like that?” Stiles frowned, because he was sure all the blood was rushing into Chris’ head now. Chris didn’t answer, just closed his eyes. Stiles watched wordlessly, a little worried, until after barely a minute, Chris straightened with a grunt. He twisted his torso this way and that without moving his legs.

“I’m a father, Stiles.” The statement brought so many memories in Stiles’ head he couldn’t even reply. “Even if my daughter is dead, I am. I worry. That’s pretty much my job. I also know this life.” He gestured around the room. “And I know what it can do to a person. You do too. I don’t want kids like you, like Allison, end up dead because you didn’t know better.” He huffed, looking out the window. “Allison said she knew the risks. So do you. But do you really?” He looked back at Stiles with a serious expression.

“Of course, I do. Three of my friends and many people I knew died because of it.” Stiles clenched his teeth. “I’m not a kid, Chris.”

“Aren’t you?” Chris tilted his head to the side. “Stiles, you’re barely eighteen.”

“And?” Stiles got up to pace. “My mom died when I was eight. My father pretty much checked out, which is fine, but like, do you even know how much time that leaves to an eight-year-old to be a kid?” He was starting to choke up as he stopped in front of the windows, his hands clenched into fists. “It takes a little more than the past four years to make me want to run for the hills.”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” As Stiles turned back, Chris was frowning. He finally stood up properly, watching Stiles with impossibly blue eyes.

“I’m here because I needed a moment to just… process.” Stiles said almost aggressively. “I didn’t run away from home. Things just settled and I felt like I couldn’t breathe with all these… memories and feelings around me, so I needed an out. It doesn’t mean I’m running away. I’m just processing. Once I’m done, I’m going back. Not to Beacon Hills, maybe, dad wants me to go to university and have a future. And I want that too.”

“And I want that for you, too.” Chris answered levelly. “That’s why this, what you’re doing now,” He gestured at himself, “with us, with this research. That’s gonna make that future only shorter to live.”

“And I don’t get a say in it?” Stiles scowled. “Look, I get it. And I appreciate the concern but I can make decisions for myself. And this, for instance, what does this do, exactly?” He shrugged with his arms held out. “I’m reading books. You taught me how to fight a freaking werewolf the other day. This isn’t dangerous.”

Chris paused, watching him for a few moments. His lips pressed together then his mouth relaxed before tensing again. Stiles could see the gesture for what it was. Chris was desperate to find an argument.

“You heard me on the phone the other day, didn’t you?” He asked when Chris failed to say anything for long moments. “This uncertainty is what’s killing me. If I only knew what I was, I could sleep better at night, I could go out and make friends. I could go to university and have that picture-perfect future. That’s what you want for me? Live an anonymous life in an anonymous little town in the middle of the woods, no friends, no future, just because you didn’t want me to get a papercut?”

“I’m talking about more than a papercut here.”

“Of course, you are!” Stiles shouted, throwing up his hands. “And I’m talking about my life here!”

“Alright. And once you figure out what you are, you’ll stop?” Chris looked pissed now, too, taking a step closer. “Will you stop pursuing the supernatural? Will you stop seeing shadows in the dark? Will you see a dog bite and automatically think ‘there’s a good little werewolf’?”

“Stop.” Stiles shook his head, because Chris was getting worked up and Stiles didn’t like how true it sounded. “That’s not what’s going to happen.”

“You say that now. You live in Diamond Creek, tell me, how many of your neighbors do you suspect to be ‘wolves?”

“I don’t.” He kept quiet about thinking Chris was one.

“Don’t you?” Chris sneered. “Because that’s your future. And the more you get involved in this, the worse it’s going to get.”

“So be it!” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Isn’t it better to be prepared than surprised?”

“There’s a big difference between being cautious and being so paranoid you can’t even look at another person without seeing a monster in them. Why do you think my sister and my father were so horrible? Even Victoria?” Chris shook his head and took a step back. Stiles saw he had every intention of leaving the room but he didn’t let him.

“Oh, yeah? What about you?” He asked, cocking an arrogant eyebrow.

“What about me?” Chris turned back to him, eyes narrowed.

“Aren’t you paranoid beyond reason?”

“Why do you think I live in the middle of the woods?” Chris’ equally arrogant answer took the wind out of Stiles’ argument. Chris nodded and turned to go into the kitchen. Stiles didn’t follow him, but after a minute of moving around, Chris still spoke.

“Allison’s death wasn’t on you. It was done by the very thing I feared to discover in everyone ever since I learned about the supernatural. And I’m not mad at you for it. I’m mad at myself, because if only we saw it earlier, if we could’ve… But Peter says there’s no point in what-ifs. I believe him because he was betrayed by the very people he put his trust in. That’s what you have to look forward to. Fraternizing with your enemy for a semblance of normal, because at least from them, you know what to expect.”

“You two don’t seem to mind,” Stiles noted quietly. He didn’t think Chris would hear him.

“We’re old enough to know this is the best-case scenario for us. We don’t mind because we don’t have a choice. That kind of makes you accept the circumstances.”

“Well, that sounds great.” Stiles snorted. Chris looked over at him with a smile.

“It isn’t. But it works.” He paused, leaning on the counter. “I’m not delusional, no matter what Peter thinks. I know if we don’t help you, you’ll keep looking with possibly worse people than we are. So I’ll help. We will. But don’t ask me to be happy about it.”

“I’m not.” Stiles frowned. “All I ask is you stop being a dick about it.”

“I can do that.” Chris nodded after a beat, with a small smile. Then he turned back to whatever he was doing.

“Can you…” Stiles started after a minute. Chris looked up with raised brows. Stiles clenched his teeth, ready for rejection. “Can you teach me how to fight?” He paused. “I mean, if I’m gonna be a paranoid bastard, at least I should know what to do about it.”

That was when the door opened and Peter walked in. He was barely sweaty, and he only breathed a little deeper than normal. He took his earphones out, looking over at Stiles in the living room window, then at Chris behind the kitchen counter.

“Good, no blood.” He nodded, tossing his half-empty water bottle in the sink. He stepped over to Chris, pecked his cheek then moved to the fridge.

“My floor, remember?” Chris rolled his eyes, reaching up to wipe down his cheek with a frown.

“Didn’t know if it applied to you too, or if I was the only one who had to keep the rules.” Peter leaned against the fridge to drink from a fresh bottle of water.

“Stiles wants us to teach him to fight.”

“Next week. For now, I just thought of another test we could do.”

“What?” Stiles wrinkled his forehead. “I thought we were done with everything.”

“Come on.” Peter went outside through the living room door. Stiles threw a questioning look towards Chris, who just shrugged, so Stiles followed Peter outside. As he stepped out, he already saw Peter was setting up to chop wood.

“Dude,” Stiles whined, leaning his head back.

“Do it, Stiles,” Peter ordered, stepping back. Stiles groaned and stalled.

“We did this already, you know I’m not able to tear it apart by hand, what’s the point?”

“You don’t need to know that.” Peter nodded at the setup. “Chop, Stiles.”

“Oh, God, you’re a sadist.” Stiles groaned and picked up the axe at last. “Dude, I still feel like my hands are clamping.” He turned to Peter, who just stood there with his arms crossed, looking at Stiles patiently. “I’m gonna lose function in my hands.”

“You’re fine. Get to it.”

“I hate you so much.” Stiles narrowed his eyes.

“Yes, well, do you want to know what you are? Remember, you asked for it.”

“I’m like, half-convinced you just want me to do your job for you.” He said, but then turned to the log and struck.

“I can do my job just fine.” Peter commented as Stiles had to strike again. After the first one was done, Peter put another log in front of him, much to Stiles’ dislike. “How was your talk?” He asked as Stiles was working on the log.

“Very deep…” Stiles panted as he raised the log with the axe and dropped it on the base. “Very emotional.”

“Good.” Peter nodded, then put another log in front of him. Stiles sent him an annoyed look, but got to it.

“So, what’s your endgame here?”

“Whatever do you mean?” He could hear the smirk even if he was concentrating on the task.

“Well, Chris said you made him talk to get to your endgame. What is it?”

“Hm. Figuring out what would’ve happened if I bit you that night in the parking lot.” Peter put another log down. Stiles stopped to frown at him.

“I don’t believe you. Why don’t I believe you?”

“Probably because you know better than thinking I’m going to tell you everything, just because I like you.”

“What part _don’t_ you want to share?” Stiles let the axe hang by his side, turning towards Peter. “Why do you always have to be this shady?”

“Just because you don’t see my reasoning, doesn’t mean I’m being less than completely honest.” Peter cocked his head to the side in a curious manner. “When am I ‘shady’?”

“Like, all the time?” Stiles frowned. “Why, what do you think you’ve been ‘completely honest’ about? This? Hardly.” Stiles gestured towards the woods.

“Since you’ve known me, I’ve been open about why I killed Laura, why I came back from the dead and why I’ve been helping Derek’s joke of a pack.”

“Okay, so, none of that happened?” Stiles dropped the axe so he could count on his fingers. “You never told anyone why you killed Laura, you said death didn’t suit you, that’s why you came back and you haven’t really been helping us, or if you have, it was because Derek bullied you into it.” Stiles let his hands fall. “How do you exactly get to sit on the high horse?” He raised his eyebrows. Peter rolled his eyes.

“Must everyone pick a fight with me this week?” He asked no one in particular, annoyed.

“Will you answer, or will you stop pretending to be the statue of honesty?” Stiles shook his head, picking up the axe. There was silence while he chopped the first log, then Peter put another in front of him. Before he could strike, barely waiting for the other man to pull his hand away, his wrists were caught and Peter didn’t let him go, no matter how much he struggled. He even dropped the axe on his toes. As soon as he stopped to glare into Peter’s face that was way too close, Peter started talking.

“I killed Laura because she left me behind. If nothing else, I strongly believe in eye for an eye. Secondly, I wasn’t done when you killed me, so I was desperate to come back. Fortunately, my revival also healed my shattered mentality, which, you must understand, after six years of being locked in my own, damaged body, wasn’t in the best condition when I bit Scott. Thirdly, I helped you all because I’m a werewolf, in case you haven’t noticed. Derek was my alpha at the time, also my only living relative. As much as I disliked the situation, I had no say in it, and despite killing Laura, I’m not keen on spilling my own flesh and blood.

“I may not have said all of that, but I was under the impression that your sharp little mind would put the pieces together and out of all the kids you’d be the one to understand. Clearly, I’ve been wrong.” He looked into Stiles’ eyes for a moment longer, but then he let him go, walking back to where he’d been standing.

Stiles watched him, his breath coming out in pants, jaw clenching and unclenching. Then he picked up the axe and wordlessly cut the next log. They stayed silent for the next two, all the while Stiles’ mind went somewhere else. He was thinking, trying to see where Peter was coming from. He understood his last point, he thought, and the second made sense. But he couldn’t make sense of Laura. After he cut the next log, he turned back to Peter.

“What does it matter that Laura left you?” He asked with a frown. “I mean, sure I get the whole ‘wolves heal better with their packmates there, but surely it couldn’t have made that big of a difference.”

“Wouldn’t it?” Peter tilted his head again. It was starting to get on Stiles’ nerves.

“It’s…” Stiles started, slowly shaking his head. “Like what Derek did for Cora?” He guessed. “I mean, Derek didn’t know how to do that. Did Laura?”

“No. Talia didn’t like to be a ‘wolf. She wasn’t about to teach her kids about how to be one either.”

“Do you?” Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Like to be a ‘wolf I mean?”

“That’s not quite the point.” Peter smiled but it wasn’t genuine.

“So, what could Laura give you that you missed so much you had to kill her for not giving you?”

“Come on. Is it that hard to imagine I just wanted her to be there for me?” Peter rolled his eyes and Stiles snorted.

“When you say it like that, yes, it is,” Peter smirked in return but didn’t elaborate. He gestured to the next log.

“Chop.” With a groan, Stiles returned to his task and there was no more talk.

\--

From there on, Stiles developed a routine with the two men. Sometimes they’d come to the diner and Stiles would serve them, and he was over almost every weekend. Mainly, they looked through more and more books that Peter got from somewhere. Every week it seemed he greeted Stiles with “I have some more volumes to look through." He didn’t know where the ones that proved worthless went, but they had a healthy pile of possible candidates left.

They also finally revealed to Stiles what his so-called tests were all about, which Stiles was dying to know ever since Peter first told him to chop wood.

“That was to test your strength. You did better than expected but nothing supernatural about it.” Peter shrugged, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor. “Running to test your stamina, which was honestly pathetic.”

“Hey!” Stiles protested at Peter’s smirk. Chris shook his head.

“Shooting to test your precision and sight. I admit, we didn’t really have a baseline for that, so I guess you did fairly good on that.”

“Okay, and fighting and cutting wood _again_?” There he glared at Peter.

“I wanted to rile you up, see if you shifted or anything.” He shrugged again. “I admit, I failed both times to do that. But Christopher tells me during your little heart-to-heart last week you became pretty aggravated and nothing happened other than you shouting at him.”

“That wasn’t a test, was it?” Stiles side-eyed Chris, who shrugged.

“I might’ve drawn it out so you get worked up, but no, it wasn’t intended as one. But it was a good one.”

“You’re horrible people.” Stiles frowned. “I don’t know why I hang out with you.”

“Oh, easy.” Peter raised his head. “You don’t have a choice.” He grinned at Stiles sharply. Stiles glared but it didn’t seem to affect him at all.

A week later, they moved down to the living room to research. Chris informed Stiles the work on the second floor had started, and Stiles could see the evidence. The small rug from the living room had been rolled up and put in the corner and there was a mop by the kitchen at all times. They didn’t always manage to mop the floor by the time Stiles arrived, so he saw the muddy boot prints. There was a container out front for trash, which was already half-full and the smell of saw-dust and burnt metal was a new constant presence, as were the fresh truck marks out front.

They also started teaching him how to fight. It was honestly Stiles’ favorite time. Not only was he allowed, no, required to punch Peter Hale in the face, but he also got to enjoy being in the presence of two muscular bodies. The older men seemed to have something against clothes. More often than not they greeted Stiles in only sweatpants and didn’t make much effort to dress up, even when it was cold inside and out.

Stiles quickly learned that during sparring there was little point in dressing warm. He got really hot, especially when he was fighting Chris. The hunter was a more hands-on teacher than Peter, who usually just told him what he did wrong and waited for him to figure out how to do right.

He noticed they were like that a lot in their daily life as well. Peter liked to wait, pointing others in the right direction but not outright giving them an answer. Chris was more of a director. He seemed to believe repetition was the key for most things, even though his favorite saying was “if this was real, you wouldn’t get a second chance".

Stiles started to look forward to Saturdays. He learned that while Peter mostly stayed at home, Chris often left for days to work, but never on weekends. Peter didn’t seem bothered by it, but Stiles couldn’t be sure, only seeing them once a week.

His father approved, mostly. He had problems with both men, his most frequent argument that they were dangerous, no matter if they were hostile towards Stiles or not. He was touched by the concern but also annoyed. Scott still didn’t know much. Stiles told him that the people who help him are good, but other than that, Scott didn’t ask about them. Which was fine.

Sophie also seemed to start seeing Chris and Peter as a Stiles-related issue. Though they never came when Stiles wasn’t working, they once came to the diner when he was on break, and instead of Sophie serving them, she hunted Stiles down and told him they were there. Stiles asked her why she didn’t serve them, but Sophie just shrugged.

This went on for a month. He saw them eight days during that month, and he wished it was more. It wasn’t that he enjoyed spending time with them per se. They were both assholes in their own way with more issues than an entire psychology ward could deal with in a lifetime.

But… Stiles was finally feeling a connection to someone. Since Allison’s death, Scott wasn’t really… there for Stiles, and Stiles truly didn’t mind. They both had their own issues. Stiles was slowly falling apart in the aftermath while Scott put his focus on things that were everything but dealing with her, and that drove a wedge between them. Nobody was to blame for it. Stiles was just as responsible as Scott.

What bothered Stiles more was that they were no closer to figuring out what Stiles was. They had a dozen candidates, none of which were easy to test. Last week he had to drink fresh lamb blood. He feared what this week would bring.

“I have good news.” Peter grinned as soon as Stiles was escorted into the house by Chris, who was just getting out of his own car when Stiles pulled up. Stiles’ eyebrows rose and Chris grunted something. “We have a new test.”

“Just tell me I don’t have to eat a fish alive.” Stiles groaned. When the books suggested that to test if he was a selkie, he put on the brakes.

“No. It’s even better.”

“I really, really don’t trust that smile.” Stiles took a step back while Peter seemed to be glowing in delight. Chris dropped himself on the sofa, covering his eyes with his arm.

“As you shouldn’t. I get to drown you.”

“What?!” Stiles and Chris called at the same time, Chris sitting up to glare at the beaming Peter.

“Oh, come on, I’m not going to kill him.” Peter rolled his eyes. He was standing behind the counter with two books opened in front of him, one Stiles knew and one he’d never seen. “I just…” He looked over the book like he was reading a recipe book not a ‘how to drown Stiles’ one. “Need to make sure he’s at the point of passing out. If he is indeed a siren, then he’ll grow gills.”

“I told you already, I’m not a siren.”

“Just because you can’t sing _I Believe I Can Fly_ , doesn’t mean you aren’t one.” Peter narrowed his eyes.

“You just want to drown me.” Stiles mocked.

“Like you don’t enjoy punching me.” Peter looked at him flatly.

“Nobody drowns or punches anyone!” Chris said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I will hear when he’s about to pass out.”

“And are you going to pull him out?” Chris’ eyebrows rose.

“I don’t want to kill him.” Peter rolled his eyes.

“You don’t?” Stiles’ eyebrows rose, but the two men ignored him.

“No. There is another way to test, but not this.” Chris sounded final.

“There really isn’t.” Peter insisted. “You know Sirens don’t shift unless their life is in danger near water.”

“And we concluded since you almost knocked him dead near the pool that this isn’t it.” Chris sat up properly, rubbing his eyes.

“He didn’t even have a concussion. Look.” Peter paused, taking a deep breath. “I know we all enjoy Stiles spending time around here, but we need to get to the bottom of this. This test could rule out almost half of our guesses. Life-threatening danger brings any shifter out. This is a logical next step and couldn’t be safer with a ‘wolf around to pull him up.”

“Peter, I don’t trust you.” Chris raised his voice, looking at him pointedly.

“I didn’t ask for your trust.” Peter ground out after a beat. “I’m asking for his.” He turned to Stiles. “You’re the tie breaker.” Stiles was quiet for a long moment. He didn’t trust Peter either, although he was surprised Chris said he didn’t. Weren’t they… like a couple? That sort of required trust in Stiles’ book. Or maybe not with a hunter and a werewolf. That wasn’t the point. Did he want to be almost drowned by Peter Hale of all people?

“How about this?” Stiles said, thoughts still running through his head. “How about Chris does it and you’ll be right there to tell him when to pull me out.” Peter just watched him, jaw working. Chris was the one who answered.

“Alright. Fine. But we should do this somewhere public, so help is right there.”

“Yeah, try to drown someone in public.” Peter rolled his eyes. “What a pristine idea.”

“We’re fine. Peter will tell us.” Stiles pinned said man with a look, who visibly held back a sigh or maybe a witty comeback.

“I’m not sure about this.” Chris insisted.

“No, me neither. But I’m at the end of my rope here.” Stiles massaged his temples.

“You didn’t tell us you got headaches,” Peter said sharply. The boy looked over, surprised at the tone.

“I get them because I can’t sleep because I’m worried I’ll turn into a homicidal lizard.”

“Alright.” Chris sighed. “If we must. Come on, Stiles, I’ll lend you some swimming shorts.” He stood and headed down the hallway, shoulders tense. Stiles spared a look at Peter, but then followed him.

Chris walked in the master bedroom, and Stiles beheld it for the first time. There was a king-sized bed in the middle, entirely too big for only two people, but Stiles didn’t question it. It was decorated similarly to the living room, with colorful throws at the head and a blanket at the end. It was made up as if they were in a hotel. There were windows on either side with floaty, white curtains over them. Next to the further one was a double glass door that led onto a small-looking back patio, but there was no backyard, Stiles could see how close the trees were.

It looked intimate and homey. Stiles was almost too shy to look where Chris disappeared to, but then he stepped inside. Chris was, apparently, lost in their walk-in closet. Stiles’ eyebrows rose as he looked inside. It was big, almost the size of the guest bathroom Stiles usually used when he was here. The two sides were pretty obvious. While Peter’s side looked tidy and well-organized, Chris’ had more clutter and there was a pair of muddy boots thrown carelessly aside.

“Here.” Chris threw him a piece of fabric. “I’ll take a quick shower.” He said as he passed Stiles, seemingly not concerned with his presence in the master bedroom at all, so much so, that he didn’t even close the door to the bathroom. Or maybe he expected Stiles to leave. Stiles just shrugged and started stripping, not keen on going to one of the spare bedrooms just for this.

It proved to be a mistake when he pulled his briefs down and someone whistled behind him. He flinched at the sound, but quickly pulled on the shorts. They were a little big on him, but thankfully they had a string, so he pulled it tight as he turned, just in time to see Peter pull his shirt over his head.

“It’s polite to knock, you know.” He said as he folded his clothes.

“It’s my own closet, Stiles.” Peter raised his eyebrows as he unbuttoned his jeans. “I usually don’t need to knock.”

“Yes, well, you’re also a ‘wolf, so you should’ve heard me in here.”

“And miss the sight of your pale ass?” He grinned as he leaned against the wall and pulled his jeans off by their ankle, one at the time.

“I’m gonna go now.” Stiles frowned, picking up his clothes and high-tailing out of there before he saw more. Peter didn’t say anything, but his smirk was pretty telling.

Stiles was waiting for them in the sunroom, looking at the small pool in the garden, already shivering at the thought of getting into the probably ice-cold water. It was another five minutes before the two men joined him. There were waterdrops in Peter’s beard and hair, but other than raising his eyebrows at the two of them, Stiles didn’t comment.

They went out to the pool, Chris dropping a few towels on one of the lounge chairs there. Peter was the first one to get in, and he swam one lap underwater before coming up for air.

“Are you sure about this, Stiles?” Chris asked, sounding concerned. Stiles took a deep breath. Was he? No. But this needed to be done. He was tired of not knowing what he was, and if Peter said this could rule out a few more than just Siren, then he believed him.

“Yeah.” He eyed the pool. “I’m just not sure I want to freeze to death. _Again_.” He frowned.

“It’s not that bad,” Peter said, swimming to the edge. “Look.” He held out his hand. Stiles curiously touched it to see, but then his wrist was snatched and he was being pulled, headfirst into the water. It took him a second to find his bearings and come up for air, glaring at Peter.

“You fucking ass!” He shouted, but the ‘wolf just laughed. Even Chris was chuckling. “You too?” Stiles snarled.

“Stiles. You accepted Peter Hale’s hand. What did you expect?”

“You’re horrible people. Horrible!” He shook his head, running his hand over his face to get rid of some of the water. To be fair, the water really wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t room temperature, but it wasn’t freezing either, which Stiles expected with the current weather.

“I put on the heater for you, you should show some gratitude.” Peter rolled his eyes, confirming Stiles’ theory that the water was artificially warm.

“Alright, children.” Chris rolled his eyes as well, easing himself in the water, hissing then sighing. Peter was watching him with heat in his eyes Stiles really didn’t need to see. “Let’s do this.” Chris swam over to Stiles, putting his hands on his shoulder and looking deep in his eyes. “I’ll be right here.”

“Yeah, okay.” Stiles took two, three deep breaths. Before they could start, Peter swam over.

“Just a moment.” He said as he leaned in and quickly pecked Stiles on the lips.

“Peter!” Chris snapped, while Peter swam further away with a laugh.

“Hey, you wanted some guarantee I’ll save him. If he survives, now he has something to look forward to.” He smirked. Stiles made a face.

“You’re impossible.” Chris glared then shook his head as he returned to Stiles.

“Are you just going to ignore that?” Stiles asked as he looked over at Peter, who slowly swam closer.

“Yes. Concentrate.” Chris ordered, putting his hands back on Stiles’ shoulder. He thought about it for a moment, debating if he should press the issue, but in the end he decided it didn’t matter. Peter was… Peter and Stiles didn’t like him and didn’t want to get involved either. But he had to admit, their meetings had been the highlight of his weeks in the past two months. He thought he’d be a bigger mess without the two men around, and somehow, that made the whole kissing thing okay.

So he licked his lips, looking over at Peter, who was returning his gaze levelly, and Stiles nodded. He took one last, deep breath, then Chris pushed down on his shoulders. As Stiles went under, he felt Chris’ legs wrap around his torso to keep him well-restrained.

He didn’t open his eyes. The first few seconds were fine. Then his lungs began to burn and the urge to take a breath was big. Slowly, but surely, it became all he could think about as he tried not to struggle because he didn’t want to make Chris’ job harder.

Then he started to panic, even though he knew what would happen. Involuntary his mouth opened and he wanted to take a breath but he knew he shouldn’t, not unless he wanted to die. He began to fight Chris’ hold, desperately. He even opened his eyes, but other than the tiles that covered the pool, he saw nothing.

He had thought he would lose consciousness much sooner, but it felt like at least two minutes passed before spots began to dance in his field of vision. He squeezed his eyes shut, gripping Chris’ thigh, the closest part of him he could reach. He squeezed, feeling his fingers digging into solid muscle. Then the legs released him with a jerk and he was grabbed from behind and pulled away, but he couldn’t seem to let go of the leg. He broke the surface and immediately gasped for air, which only made the water already in his mouth go down, which made him cough.

“Let go!” Peter was shouting at him, shaking Stiles’ arm, the one he was still holding out to keep Chris’ thigh in his grip. “Stiles, let Chris go!” He did, and immediately there was a kick to his leg as Chris probably swam away, but he didn’t know because he had his eyes squeezed shut. They were burning. He kept coughing, but even through that he heard Peter and Chris talk. “You alright?”

“I think so.” Chris sounded choked up.

“How bad is it?”

“I don’t fucking know.” There was some splashing. “Get him here.” Peter pulled Stiles along, then he was pulled roughly on shore. He turned to his side and coughed, rubbing his eyes.

“Stiles. Stiles, darling boy, open your eyes.” He never heard Peter that gentle before, so he had to huff a laugh, even though his lungs burned.

“Who… Died…” He tried to joke, but it quickly got lost in his coughs.

“Stiles? Can you open your eyes?” Chris.

“They burn.” He forced out, trying to repress at least some of the coughing.

“Just try.” At Peter’s request he blinked rapidly. The movement didn’t soothe the burning, but it decreased with them open, so he tried to keep them like that, looking from Peter’s serious expression to Chris’ grimace.

“I’m lost,” Peter said after a moment. They both seemed concentrated on his eyes, so Stiles asked:

“What? Jesus, do I have like, black eyes or something?”

“No, they look mostly… Orange.” Chris said, frowning. “They’re like a ‘wolf’s, just bigger, and…”

“They look a little lizard-y, don’t they?” Peter tilted his head to the side. Chris lazily hit him in the chest and Peter laughed.

“Seriously?” Stiles frowned. “What’s with you?” He looked over at Chris, finally able to move his limbs. He used Peter’s shoulder to sit up. Chris was half-splayed on the ground, one leg extended with his hands holding his thigh.

“Well, apparently, you’re strong enough when you want to be.” He said, taking his hands away. His thigh had deep red marks in the shape of Stiles’ hands on it. Stiles’ eyes widened.

“Holy mother of—” He gasped, moving to set one hand on Chris’ thigh, the other on his shoulder, eyes glued to the bruise. “I did that?”

“You did.” Suddenly, Stiles was embraced from behind, Peter’s arms around his stomach, his chin on Stiles’ shoulder. “You even had claws at one point. They were ugly, nothing like a ‘wolf’s.”

“And… uh.” Stiles was having a hard time forming words with Peter’s chest rubbing against his back. “Why are you cuddling me exactly?”

“Because I want to.” Peter shrugged. “You almost died down there. I was scared.”

“Bullshit.” Stiles rolled his eyes immediately. Peter just shrugged again in answer. Chris’ hand came up and cupped Stiles’ face.

“It’s alright. At least, now we know you’re something. And it’s hard to make you change. If it’s all the same with you, I’d rather not do it anytime soon.”

“Shit, yeah.” Stiles looked down at the thigh he was still stroking. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine. I’m just cold.”

“Let’s get you two measly humans inside.” Peter rolled his eyes as he stood without letting go of Stiles. The boy squeaked, but then Peter let him go and looped one of Chris’ arms around his neck to pull him up. They quickly moved inside, Peter depositing Chris on the couch then disappearing down the hall. Stiles stood in the doorway, a towel wrapped around his shoulder, unsure what to do.

“Come here, Stiles.” Chris gestured to him, so Stiles went. He stopped in front of the sofa, unsure, but then Chris reached up and tugged on his arm, so he sat on an empty spot, eyes finding the bruise again. “Stop. Don’t beat yourself up about it. Shit, Stiles, we almost killed you. The least of your concerns should be my thigh.”

“It’s a very nice thigh!” Stiles insisted. Chris’ eyebrows rose and he blushed. “Where has Peter gone anyways?”

“Probably getting dry and if he values his bed, getting something for this.” He gestured at his leg.

“About that… Uh, you know.” Stiles scratched his cheek. “About that kiss.”

“I wouldn’t call that a kiss.”

“No?” Stiles lifted his head so suddenly, his neck cracked. “You’re not, like, super mad, right?”

“A little,” Chris said, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head to the side. He got hold of Stiles’ wrist, his other hand going to his face. Stiles startled. “It’s more like jealousy.” He said, raising his eyebrows. Was he asking for permission? Stiles nodded dumbly and Chris smirked before leaning in and stealing a kiss on his own.

It was nothing like Peter’s quick peck on the lips. He tilted Stiles’ head for better access, lips sliding over each other sensually before his tongue ran over Stiles’ top lip. He obediently opened his mouth, then they were properly making out.

“Now, now.” Stiles and Chris pulled apart at Peter’s voice from the doorway. The man stepped closer and dropped a first aid kit on the couch by Chris’ leg. “Injuries and research first.” He held out a book for Stiles, which he took, quickly reading the title. It was about werefoxes and he raised his eyebrows at Peter. “The fun comes later.” Peter grinned, touching Stiles’ face with his fingertips before dropping on Chris’ other side on the couch, picking up the first aid kit.

“Who are you and what have you done with Peter Hale?” Chris frowned at the man. Peter huffed.

“Don’t tell me either of you would be able to concentrate while your thigh hurts this much.” As Stiles looked over, he saw that one of Peter’s hands was wrapped around Chris’ wrist, black lines creeping up his arm. “Or at least, until Stiles here gets some answers.”

“A werefox?” Stiles’ eyebrows rose skeptically.

“No, a werefrog.” Peter rolled his eyes. “Yes, Stiles, that’s why I gave you that.”

“Huh.” Was all Stiles could say, but then he was opening the book and he got lost about details of his new nature. He was distantly aware of the noises by his side as his eyes were moving over the pages, drinking in every word of the thin book.

“We completely lost him, didn’t we?” Chris asked, but it went in one ear and went out the other.

“I’d say we just got a taste of him. That kiss I interrupted seemed awfully pleasant.”

“You want to sample it too, Hale?”

“Mmm.”

Stiles didn’t know how much time passed, but eventually, the book stopped detailing how the moon, the usual kryptonite of lycanthropy didn’t affect ‘foxes. Finally, he found some answers. He reached out excitedly towards the men next to him, his hand colliding with flesh as he said:

“Guys, guys, listen to this! _‘They,’_ them being werefoxes, which I apparently am, _‘also don’t transform partially unless they are on the brink of death.’_ Blah-blah-blah, _‘they can achieve what’s commonly known as full shift, also known as animal transformation.’_ Guys.” He looked up at that, beaming at Chris and Peter, who apparently were in the middle of something as Peter’s arm was draped over Chris’ shoulder and the hunter rested his hand at the base of the ‘wolf’s neck.

“Into a fox?” Chris’ eyebrows rose high.

“Well, the book says ‘foxes need to be born, and that there are very few actual bitten ones, so it seems unsure whether bitten ones can. But that’s not really the point – this explains so much! It says we don’t have heightened senses, nothing extra, it’s like we’re not even shifters – unless we’re about to die.” He looked up again.

“At least we don’t have to worry about random displays of your lycanthropy.” Chris mused, deep in thought.

“Thanks for helping me with this.”

“Does that mean you’ll stop coming around?” Peter asked as he manipulated Chris so his back was to Peter’s chest, resting his chin on his shoulder. Stiles rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“I didn’t know you needed permission to send me away.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I have no problem voicing my thoughts.”

“What Peter is trying to say is that we’re curious if you want to keep coming around even if we’re not working on this.” Chris gestured vaguely at the book in Stiles’ lap. He considered his answer, because, did he? Want to come around even if it wasn’t for the mystery?

“Do you want me to?” He narrowed his eyes at them. Peter rolled his eyes and leaned forward, kneeling onto the sofa so his chest brushed Chris’ hair as he took hold of Stiles’ jaw and pulled him up into a proper kiss. He wasn’t gentle about it, prying Stiles’ mouth open with the hand on his face, but it was still pleasant – if a little uncomfortable.

“I like you, Stiles.” He said once he pulled back.

“I like you too,” Chris added.

“Alright then. I guess that answers my question.” Stiles answered a little dazed, giddy with the kisses and the promise of what else was to come, although he tried not to show it. “For the record, I like you two, too, you know, when you’re not trying to kill me.”

“I don’t promise this was the last time.” Peter grinned, teeth just a sliver sharper than normal. Chris rolled his eyes and Stiles laughed, finally free of most of his burdens.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my [tumblr](http://assisreal.tumblr.com/) if you wanna say hi, and if you liked the fic, please consider [reblogging this post](https://assisreal.tumblr.com/post/617582386354536448/fuck-you-oregon-by-saori-word-count-25k-summary) to share it with others!
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> Thank you for reading! Comments are always welcome and appreciated, I learn from your constructive criticism!


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